Broken Bridges
by Knowing Shadows
Summary: Note Added It's the final year, and everyone is prepared for Harry to fall at Voldemort's feet in defeat. As he prepares for a losing battle, trouble crops up in Draco Malfoy. Death Eater and spy, or the greatest love he'll ever have? SLASH DH
1. Chapter 1

Broken Bridges 

Broken Bridges 

A Harry Potter Fanfiction. 

Warning: This is slash. Boy/Boy, Male/Male, whatever. Harry/Draco. You have been warned. 

Disclaimer: Nothing but the plot belongs to me. All the rest goes to J. K. Rowling, who is probably cursing my soul right now for making her characters do stuff they will never do in her stories ::sigh:: oh well, we can all dream, right? 

Summary: The final battle is approaching, and no one is under any illusions. This is, and always was, Harry Potter's fight. While he himself tries to prepare for what lies ahead, treated as though the fight is already lost, difficulties occur in the form of Draco Malfoy. Death Eater, spy of Voldemort, or the greatest love he'll ever have? 

"I don't think you trust, 

In my, 

Self-righteous suicide, 

I cry, 

When Angels deserve to die. 

Father (Father) Father (Father) Father (Father) Father 

Father, into your hands, 

I commend my spirit, 

Father into your hands, 

Why have you forsaken me? 

In your eyes forsaken me? 

In your thoughts forsaken me? 

In your heart forsaken me? 

Trust in my, 

Self-righteous suicide, 

I cry, 

When angels deserve to die, 

In my, 

Self-righteous suicide, 

I cry, 

When Angels deserve to die." 

System of a Down "Chop Suey" 

Chapter One. 

The Manor stood in the centre of vast grounds, imposing itself on the skyline. The land within the walls was a mixture of forestry and flat grassland. Howls could be heard from the forest at night, always answered by others, until a terrifying chorus of animal cries reverberated in the cold air. 

It was surprisingly difficult to find the Manor, despite the fact the building and the lands that came with it were enormous. It was never stumbled upon by Muggles, and was rarely visited by others that weren't. Well, it was rarely visited by those who wanted their presence known to anyone other than the owner of the Manor. 

Heavy rain lashed down mercilessly as the tress creaked ominously in the stinging wind. Along the road, which was the only thing that implied the grounds had ever seen the work of a Muggle, a long line of figures made their way resolutely towards the Manor, black cloaks heavy and wet from the rain, and whipping around their ankles. They could see several flickering lights in the windows up ahead, and they all walked to them, no hurry. Nothing. 

The line stretched all the way back to the gates, and people were still joining it, barely more than black humps slowly moving forward like mindless zombies. It was a mark of respect to the family on whose land they walked that they announced their coming so readily, instead of Apparating in or using some other transport. The storm had safely ruled out anyone flying in, luckily. 

He watched them all, people he didn't know, from a window on the top floor of the mansion. It hadn't surprised him that his father had failed to inform him of this - he rarely did, unless, for some reason, he himself was expected to attend. 

It was getting close, he thought absently, brushing hair out of his eyes. These meetings were getting more frequent. This was the third this week. 

The door to his room opened and closed quietly. There was a tense silence before a familiar voice spoke. "I wouldn't stay there much longer." 

"Why not?" he asked casually. 

"There are…guests coming who you may not want to-" 

"He Who Must Not Be Named?" 

A pause. Then, slowly, "Yes." 

"Huh." He continued to stare out of the window with troubled grey eyes. "So, he doesn't want me to see him, or you don't want me to see him?" 

"Our Lord is…unpredictable. I am thinking only of your safety, Draco." 

"When have you cared about my safety?" Draco muttered bitterly, tightening his hands where they rested on his windowsill. "You're worried about your own hide, not mine." 

"I'm worried about your safety," Lucius Malfoy insisted, fists clenching at his sides. The heavy black robe was in stark contrast with his pale skin and hair. Draco rarely looked at his father for very long. He hated being reminded about how much they looked alike. 

"I find that hard to believe," he murmured sharply. 

"I am your father," Lucius hissed, eyes narrowing as he gazed at the back of his son. "Don't ever question me like that again." 

Draco didn't answer. 

Lucius frowned, pale lips pressed together. Draco knew very well that it was a mistake to aggravate him, but he continued to do it. "Draco…I'd best put your robes on if I were you. Ready for when you're called." 

Tearing his eyes from the never-ending line along the road, Draco turned round to stare at Lucius. "Called?" he echoed, pale eyebrows knitting in confusion. "You mean I'm need at the meeting?" 

"The Dark Lord has expressed a wish to speak with you," Lucius replied with a small, proud smile. He shook his hair out from the collar of his robes and then gazed around his son's room. A large four-poster bed hung with heavy red drapes was the main feature of the room, with some expensive drawers and such. Impeccably tidy, just as Lucius liked things. 

"What for?" Draco asked, looking more and more puzzled by the second. "Why does he want to speak with me?" 

"About Harry Potter." 

Draco froze at the mention of his rival, The Boy Who Lived. He held his head high and gave Lucius a condescending look. "What about him?" he asked lightly. 

"It's not my place to speak of the Dark Lord's plans," Lucius told him smoothly, smirking ever so slightly. "I'm sure you'll be pleased, though." 

"I doubt it," the blond boy said under his breath. Raising his voice again, Draco said, "Well, if he wants to see me, why don't you want me to see him now?" 

"The Dark Lord is unpredictable, as I told you," came the drawled, casual reply. Lucius made a few last adjustments to the sleeves of his robe, leaving Draco to openly scrutinise him. "Don't question things unless it's life or death, Draco, my son. I am your father, I know what is best for you." 

The younger man's lip curled in disdain. "But what if it's not best for me?" he questioned daringly. Over his shoulder, the last figure stepped through the gates, which then swung shut slowly, the creaking drowned out by the storm. "What if I don't want to become a Death Eater?" 

Lightening forks cut the sky, and thunder rolled deafeningly in tow. 

Lucius stared across at Draco, torn between horror and anger. In a few strides, he'd crossed the room to the window and the defiant figure that stood there. As lightning struck again, Lucius grabbed a slender wrist in his crushing grip. Draco tried to pull away, but the taller, stronger man held him tight. "You dare say such things in this house!" he spat, fury making his nostrils go whiter than his hair. "You are my son, and you will do as I say! I have not devoted so many years to Lord Voldemort only to have an upstart boy ruined the name 'Malfoy' for me!" 

Draco stood stubbornly, head high, jaw clenched ever as fear fought for dominance in his eyes. 

"Do you hear me?!" Lucius yelled. 

His son refused to answer. 

Lucius bared his teeth, furious, and let go of Draco's crushed wrist sharply. Only to draw back his fist and then slam it hard across Draco's face, sending him stumbling across the room into a chest of drawers. Blood began to trickle from Draco's split lip, marring the smooth pale skin. 

They glared at each other before Lucius smiled grimly, rubbing his knuckles gingerly. "Clean yourself up, son. You'll be needed soon." Draco continued to stare up at his father, head spinning. When Lucius Malfoy swept out of the room, Draco sat there for a long time, numb. 

After several minutes of silence, Draco finally got to his feet, roughly wiping the blood from his chin on his sleeve before going to check the window. The last of the black-robed Death Eaters were making their way into the house. 

And he…he would be called upon by Voldemort. 

Fear made him shiver as he quickly searched for his best robes. It had been 2 years since Voldemort had risen, and in that time he had never seen the wizard to whom his father pledged allegiance. His father had informed him of that fateful event at the end of their fourth year. Cedric Diggory dead. His name still brought hushed whispers of fear to those at Hogwarts, and to those that weren't. And he had heard about Voldemort challenging Harry Potter to a duel. 

Draco pulled his robes - finally found - over his head and straightened them carefully. And then Voldemort wanted to see him about Potter. What did he know about Golden Boy, besides the fact he was an annoying little prick who Draco couldn't get out of his hea- 

He cut off that train of thought viciously, forcing it away. No, it wasn't true, he knew it wasn't. Potter was just Potter. Nothing more. 

Looking in the mirror, Draco straightened out his ruffled hair. Long wisps of silvery blond feel into his face, while his hair just brushed his collar at the back. Seventeen now, he had grown to be a teenager distinctive in his good looks. He could easily have any girl (or boy, he mused) melting at his feet, and he knew it. 

That would not help him now, though. And as there was a knock on his door, the fear settled in his stomach again. 

He took one last look in the mirror, quickly made sure his wand was in his pocket, and took a deep breath to stop the tremors. Then he pulled the door opened, determined to live up to the name Malfoy. A dark-robed figure, hood obscuring their face, stood outside, intimidating. "You are to follow me, Master Malfoy," said an unfamiliar voice from the depths of the hood. 

Draco nodded, and the Death Eater turned and started down the long corridor towards the main stairs. Even though the candles along the walls were lit, their warmth did not stretch to Draco. Malfoy Manor had never felt so cold, so unfriendly. 

As usual, the meeting would be in the grand hall. He could hear low murmuring as they descended the red-carpeted stairs. With every step, the temperature seemed to drop. It seemed less inviting. They eventually came to a stop outside the doors to the grand hall. The Death Eater turned and murmured a warning. "When you enter, Master, please do not be alarmed." 

Draco nodded uneasily, resisting the urge to rub his arms against the freezing air. "Okay." 

The Death Eater nodded slowly in return, then turned away and pushed open the heavy double doors. They swung back, revealing the grand hall as Draco was led in. 

The coldness hit him in a solid wave, making him stumble a little. Staring around in utter shock, Draco suddenly understood the warning. Over a hundred Death Eaters were crouched on the floor. He knew his father was among them somewhere. There was a clear path down the centre to the high-backed chair at the far end of the hall. There was taller, bulkier, black-robed forms lining the walls. They breathed in unison, causing a great, rattling growl to echo around the room every few seconds. 

That explained the cold, Draco realised. They were Dementors. The much-feared guards of the wizard prison Azkaban. 

A Dementor flanked either side of the chair. And in the chair was the one thing that made Draco feel colder than even the Dementors. Slender, tall, shrouded in black. He could see long, pale-skinned fingers gripping the armrests firmly. His face was hidden. The Death Eater who entered with Draco continued down the clear path to the Dark Lord, and Draco hesitantly followed. As they drew closer, Draco blanched as he saw a large snake lying across the floor between Voldemort and the Dementors, and the Death Eaters. 

They came to a stop a foot or two away from the snake. The Death Eater bowed low, and Draco hurriedly followed. When he straightened, the Death Eater said, "My Lord, I bring Master Draco before you, as you requested." 

The head slowly lifted. Draco fought his first instinct to run. The wait to finally see the face of his new 'Master' was agonisingly slow. And then he saw it, and the urge to scream was almost impossible to ignore. 

Blood red eyes with cat-like slit pupils passed their gaze up and down his body, taking their time. Draco trembled. 

"You are afraid," Voldemort murmured in a strangely high-pitched voice. Draco didn't know what to say. The scrutiny went on and on. 

Finally, Voldemort lifted his eyes to Draco's face. Bloodless lips were pulled back into a terribly predatory smile. 

"Perfect." 

--------------------- 

Harry lay staring blankly at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Nothing could calm his nerves. He'd been worked up all through the holidays. Of course, his rattiness had only given the Dursleys extra reason to make his summer even more miserable. So there he was, wishing that morning would come and he could be off to London to the train station. And then to Hogwarts. 

His last year. It felt odd when he thought about it. After this year, what would he do? He had no idea how to make a living in either the wizard or Muggle world. 

//If I get through his year alive.// 

He frowned at that, concentrating on one zigzag crack in the ceiling, startlingly black against the whiteness. He wasn't stupid. He had no allusions as to what this year at Hogwarts would be like. It had been like it for the last two years. People would whisper when he passed, go quiet when he appeared. 

That poor Harry Potter…Voldemort's bound to come for him this year…poor boy won't stand a chance… 

They talked as if he was already dead, or at least knew that he wouldn't survive. It was obvious to everyone that Voldemort wanted him, and wanted him dead. Harry could not, and would not, convince himself otherwise. What was the point? A Dark Wizard didn't spend most of his energy looking for you year after year for you then to believe you were of no interest to him. 

At least he had Dumbledore. If Dumbledore ever deserted him, he didn't know what he'd do. The Headmaster of Hogwarts always offered his help, and had constantly assured him that any assistance needed in the final battle would be there for him. 

//Even Dumbledore won't try and convince me otherwise that Voldemort's after me.// 

And then, after Harry was defeated (he didn't think he could stand up to Voldemort more than the next person did), the Dark Wizard would kill Dumbledore, and all was lost. The wizarding world would be his, and everyone was doomed. 

//No pressure, of course.// 

Voldemort's steady rise in the last two years had been terrifying. It seemed that the sun never shone anymore. The entire wizarding world could feel the Dark Lord breathing down their necks, waiting for his chance. His influence in the world was getting ever more stronger - it seemed that every day more and more people joined the Death Eaters. And all the time Voldemort was getting more confident. 

At the beginning of summer, Muggles had started disappearing, whole families taken from their homes with no explanation. The Dark Mark hung threateningly over the victim's houses, a green shadow in the sky that struck terror into the hearts of Muggles. To the ordinary humans, Voldemort had been given the name The Shadow Killer, even though no one knew exactly what happened to those that disappeared. It was strangely apt, though, as no wizard was under any illusions to the eventual fate of them. A Muggle in Voldemort's hands was a dead one. 

And that meant Harry was forbidden to leave the Dursleys for the entire summer. Harry had arrived back at the end of the last school year with a special letter. 

Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley (it read) 

I implore your help in a matter of the utmost importance, concerning Harry. For his safety, please make sure he never leaves the house, or that if he does leave the house, then you are with him. The reasons for this are not for this letter, though Harry is permitted to tell you as long as you do not speak of it to any other Muggles. 

I thank you for your co-operation, 

Albus Dumbledore 

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 

It had given the Dursleys great relief to have a legitimate reason to lock Harry inside the house all summer. Of course, Harry had then had to explain about Voldemort, and his hatred of Muggles. And then, no matter what Harry said to persuade them otherwise, they were all convinced Voldemort was going to come for them, too. 

All owling to and from Harry was banned so no one could tell Voldemort where Harry lived if an owl was tracked. Fortunately, this did not extend to telephoning, as no Death Eater would think of Muggle technology or would have the equipment to trace a call, and under the pretence that he would be informed if Voldemort was within a certain distance from them, Harry was allowed to speak to Ron or Hermione as much as he wanted. 

Hermione kept him informed of what was in the Daily Prophet and many of the Muggle newspapers. She was fascinated by the Muggle view of the disappearances, but terrified at how high profile Voldemort had let himself become in the non-wizarding community. 

Ron, interspersed with complaints about Harry's isolation ("It's mental, I tell you!"), let him know about all the developments through his father and the Ministry of Magic. 

His fear of Voldemort was tangible - he had no reason to believe he was immune from Voldemort just because he wasn't Harry Potter. Everyone was afraid. In May, Voldemort had even sent a division of Death Eaters against Hogwarts. One of the towers had collapsed under their onslaught, killing a whole class of first years and injuring several more before Dumbledore and the staff had killed the Death Eaters involved. 

Ron had, however, brought some very welcome news to Harry one day. "Dad and some of his mates at the Ministry are organising an enquiry into the Malfoys." 

Harry had perked up considerably at this. Draco Malfoy was one of the people he hated most, along with Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew. It would serve Ferret Boy right if Arthur Weasley brought down his family. "How come?" he had asked. 

"They've been tipped off that Malfoy's dad's got some Dark Arts stuff hidden away." Harry could almost see Ron grinning at the other end of the telephone. "So they're gonna organise a little trip down Malfoy Manor." 

"Oooooh…" Harry couldn't help it. Malfoy had made his school life a living Hell for the last six years. Though his abuse had tapered off considerably in the two years since the rebirth of You Know Who, he was still the bane of Harry's days at Hogwarts. 

"That'll cut Malfoy down to size," had been Hermione's response to the news. Out of the three of them, she and Ron harboured more hatred for Malfoy than Harry did. He had to admit it - though the blond boy's attacks were most frequently on him, they were petty compared to the things he circled Ron and Hermione out for. 

No more Malfoy after this year, he thought cheerfully, folding his hands behind his head. No more taunts, no more witty remarks. Oh dear God he wanted this year to end fast. 

Only a few more hours and he could get up and get ready. For Hogwarts, where he felt semi-normal. 

Very slowly, Harry drifted off to sleep. 

----------------- 

When Harry woke up and wandered downstairs, bleary-eyed, the Dursleys were already up, watching the news on TV. He walked into the living room to hear a reporter's voice drifting to his ears. 

"…Has struck again in the small town of Rainham in Kent. Neighbours woke to find the dreaded smoke skull above 34 Goudhall Road, and called the police. Unfortunately, as with all the other victims, there was no sign of struggle and the family have disappeared without a trace. Police are no closer to catching the Shadow Killer, who continues to abduct entire families randomly from across the country…" 

Voldemort. Harry could see sobbing relatives on the TV screen, and flinched. The Dursleys, who finally noticed him, flared as though the wizard responsible for the kidnappings was running loose on his orders. Petunia was crying loudly, a soaked handkerchief in her fists. "Oh, it's terrible!" she wailed while Vernon Dursley patted her shoulder sympathetically. "What if that happened to us?" 

There was a pointed silence and Harry's shoulders slumped. "I'll go get my stuff ready." And he wandered back upstairs to get his trunk. 

Dudley, his blond-haired buffalo of a cousin, leered at him as he passed. "He's coming for you, Harry!" he called loudly as his slender, lanky wizard cousin disappeared into his room. "He's coming for you!" 

The drive to Kings Cross station was uneventful, if slightly strained. Harry sat with Hedwig's cage on his lap. The owl was thankfully quiet, gazing balefully out of the window, large eyes rarely blinking. Harry ended up making imaginary patterns on her feathers, only coming out of his stupor when his uncle said loudly, "Well, now, since you're back off to school, this Mouldywart-" 

"Voldemort," Harry corrected him. 

"-Mouldywart of yours won't come near us, will he?" 

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. "No, he won't." The truth was, Harry really didn't know. The Dursleys may never have been safe, but he didn't have any assurances that it was anyone other than himself who was safe. 

Vernon nodded nervously. "Good, good. Alright then, almost at the station." 

Harry knew his uncle's extraordinarily good mood was due to the fact his nephew was soon to be leaving. But that made Harry feel better. He didn't know what he would have done if he didn't have Hogwarts, or Ron and Hermione. 

Goodbyes with the Dursleys were never sad, and today's was no different. The Weasleys were there, and as soon as they spotted him he couldn't wait to get rid of the Dursleys. 

It was only Mrs Weasley, Ginny and Ron who were there that day. Ron looked no different. Ginny, over the years, had grown to be quite a beauty, and had more boyfriends than Harry could ever hope to keep count of. Her red hair fell in gentle curls around her thin shoulders. It seemed that the only boy she was nervous around, still, was Harry. 

"How's your summer bee?" Ron asked as they made their way to the Hogwarts Express platform. "Not been much fun at my end." 

Harry could well understand it, with Ron's dad working in the ministry. As far as he knew, everyone from all departments were on high alert, Arthur Weasley's included. 

"Ron! Harry! Hey, Ron!" 

They both turned to find Hermione appearing on the platform and waving enthusiastically at them. Ron immediately went very red indeed, as he tended to do when Hermione was around, despite the fact they were going out. Hermione seemed to think it was cute, which just made Ron even more embarrassed, and gave Harry endless amusement. 

Mrs Weasley gave them all extra big hugs. "Oh Harry, I've been so worried about you all summer…" 

"I'm fine, Mrs Weasley, really!" Harry grinned as he stepped back. "No one can touch me at the Dursleys." 

It was a good thing the train whistle blew then, signalling everyone to board, because otherwise Harry feared Mrs Weasley would burst into tears. She gave them all more hugs, and then they grabbed their stuff and hopped on board, searching for a free compartment. Ginny disappeared into a compartment with her current boyfriend and their friends. 

Hermione pulled out her Head Girl badge and pinned it proudly to her robes. Her being Head Girl was no surprise. The title of Head Boy, however, did not go to Harry, as everyone expected, but to Seamus Finnigan ("Why? Why?!" Seamus had cried) and no one could understand why. 

After searching the train they found an empty compartment at one end, and settled down inside it. Hedwig fluttered around in her cage for a moment. Harry knew the owl probably hated him for keeping her caged all summer, but there was simply no way he could get her to understand. 

"Haven't see the terrible trio yet," Ron commented as he glared suspiciously at his own owl, who was having a marathon race around his cage and hooting quite happily, little wings fluttering. 

"They're probably looking for us now," Hermione murmured, shoving her trunk into the storage space. "Wouldn't be the same, an Express ride without seeing Malfoy at least once." 

"True, unfortunately." Harry looked out of the window at the platform as the last of the students got onboard. "Didn't see any of them out there, actually." 

"You think they miraculously disappeared?" Ron asked hopefully. 

"Or got eaten by rabid flobberworms?" Harry offered. 

"Or got locked in the deepest darkest vaults at Gringotts?" 

"You wish," Hermione said with a little snort. "They probably ran off to join the Death Eaters, knowing Malfoy." 

Ron considered this for a second, then turned to Harry, who was cleaning his glasses. "Wouldn't it be weird if you had to duel him for real? Couldn't you do a Moody and transfigure him again? Bounce him around a bit?" He shivered in pleasure as he remembered the ferret incidence. Malfoy became forever Ferret Boy in Ron's head. 

Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, and looked out of the window again. "I'd love to duel him for real," he said. "But, alas, here he comes." They all looked out of the window as the blond Slytherin in question came jogging towards the train, fearing lateness. He looked a little flushed from the run, trolley pulled desperately to a stop. 

"Too bad," Hermione said with a smirk, sinking back into her seat. "Not that the school corridors aren't enough of a duelling court for you two." 

Harry shrugged, still watching Malfoy shove his way irritably onto the train, scattering lower years left, right and centre as they scrambled out of his way. Harry wondered what had got Malfoy's knickers in a twist so early on. "If he wants to fight me, he can. I can defend myself. Remember, I'm expected to fight Voldemort this year, aren't I?" 

There was an awkward silence where Ron and Hermione glanced guiltily at each other, as if they had specifically mentioned that fact, but Harry ignored it and sat back again, happy as anything, when he lost sight of Malfoy. He smiled. "So, how are you two anyway?" 

----------------- 

Fred and George, it seemed, had provided the entertainment for the long journey up north to Hogwarts. Ron had a whole bag full of little inventive games and sweets, as well as the usual Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs. They sat and played Exploding Snap most of the time, arranging it so they could bet an amount of Every Flavour Beans on each round. Ron quickly managed to acquire a large pile of beans, while Hermione's own collection dwindled. Harry's stayed comfortably medium-sized. Ron seemed ecstatic to be winning the games. 

"Are we still going to see each other?" Ron suddenly asked. "I mean, after this year ends? Will we still be friends?" 

"Of course, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione exclaimed, as if the very idea of them not being friends was preposterous. "We'll make sure we still see each other…it wouldn't be the same without you two." 

"I know what you mean," Harry replied, watching his owl out of the corner of his eye as she began pecking at the bars. "We have the owls, don't we? And we can arrange to see each other and stuff, so it shouldn't be too hard." 

"Getting sentimental already?" asked a familiar drawled voice as the compartment door slid open. They all turned to find who they expected to be there. Malfoy lounged in the doorway leisurely, arms crossed over his chest. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, stood thuggishly behind him. He smirked at them, threads of his silvery hair lying over his face, grey eyes bright with his usual glee at finding them with something he could use against them. 

"Shove off," Ron spat, temper rising to boiling point at the mere sight of the blond boy. "At least we've got friends to keep in touch with, Malfoy." 

Instead of his smile fading, Draco's grin brightened. "I wouldn't be so sure, Weasel," he said maliciously. "You never know who you can trust these days. For all I know, any of you three could be spies for You Know Who." Crabbe and Goyle laughed (it sounded more like "Haw haw haw") and snorted stupidly. 

"This coming from a spy yourself?" Hermione countered smoothly, one eyebrow raised disapprovingly. "Can't spot your own kind?" 

The grin didn't fade at all. It turned as nasty and spiteful as the spark in his eyes. "Say what you will, Granger, it doesn't really bother me. I know what side I'm on. And I know that my side is going to win." 

"You're mighty confidant for a Death Eater," Harry commented from where he sat by the window. Malfoy's eyes immediately switched to him. Something passed in his expression, too quickly for Harry to identify, or even convince himself it had really been there. 

"Who ever said I was a Death Eater?" Malfoy replied good-naturedly (well, as good-natured as Draco Malfoy ever got), dropping his gaze from Harry's. 

"You never said you weren't," Hermione pointed out softly. Malfoy gazed at her for a moment, thoughtfully. Harry had never seen that expression on his face before. The patent Draco Malfoy expression was a sneer, or a smirk of some kind. 

"So true, so true," Malfoy finally said, passing his now impassive gaze over the three of them, each in turn. "But, one thing I will tell you. Whatever I am…" He paused for a moment, making sure they were all listening. Then he continued in a lower voice, "Whatever I am, I will never be my father." Malfoy smirked again, then raised his hand in some single to Crabbe and Goyle, who scrambled back out of his way. "'Til we meet again," he said, and then swept out of the compartment in the flurry of black robe, leaving Harry, Hermione and Ron stunned in his wake. 

"That was…interesting," Harry said after about a minute of shocked silence. 

"That was almost civil!" Hermione said, eyes brightening hopefully. "I think we should all be pleased with ourselves!" 

Ron gave her a strange, sidelong look from under his red fringe. "Yeeeess…whatever you say, dear." 

Hermione whacked him over the head with her conveniently available copy of Hogwarts: A History. 

------------------- 

They were left in relative peace for the next hour or so, rummaging through the bag Fred and George had given them. They veered away from the little pack of Canary Creams and decided against giving them to an unsuspecting first year after much deliberation. Most of the things inside were sweets, so they refrained from trying those until they got into Hogwarts proper, and shared them out in the common room. At least then they wouldn't be the only ones who ended up with tails or hooves or feathers… 

It seemed, however, that changes had not only happened to Hogwarts itself in preparation for the war against Voldemort. Suddenly there was a creak, a hiss of steam, and a shudder ran through the train. 

Harry held onto the seat to steady himself as the train pulled to a hasty stop. "What was that?" he asked, having a very vivid flashback of the last time the train did this, and the Dementors had climbed aboard. 

Hermione looked nonplussed. "Checks, I assume. Dumbledore mentioned it." Looking up and seeing Harry's expression, she grinned. "Humans. Not Dementors." 

The scarred boy visibly relaxed where he sat. "Checks?" he enquired. Ron was peering round the compartment door, trying to see what exactly was happening. "Checks for what?" 

Hermione shrugged, completely uninterested. Or just not in the least worried. "Dark Arts stuff, I think. Just checking so nothing can get into Hogwarts. I think Professor McGonagall suggested it." 

Ron looked warily at the bag of stuff his older brothers had given him. "Do you think Canary Creams count as Dark Arts?" He poked the bag with his wand. 

His girlfriend sighed, and rolled her eyes. "No, Ron, Canary Creams do not count as Dark Arts. But I don't think you should have them on display either." She closed the bag and pushed it up with their trunks. "Bad boy," she admonished with a tap of her finger on his nose. Ron just gave her another odd look, as if wondering how he'd ended up with the crazy one. 

A team of intimidating wizards eventually found their way to their compartment. They opened the door and simply said, "Stay still," before holding out their wands and muttering things under their breath so low that none of them could hear. 

Nothing happened. The leader of the ground of five, dressed in black like the rest of them, stepped forward. "If you see any of the other students carrying anything suspicious, please report it to the proper authorities." 

Harry was about to ask what the proper authority was when a loud shriek sounded nearby. "IT WAS MY MOTHER'S!" It was Malfoy, yelling at someone. The squad of train-checkers scarpered back at the sound, and the three of them went to see. A second squad were trying to hold still a fighting, kicking, scrabbling Draco Malfoy outside his compartment as one of the men tried to wrestle a ring off of his finger. 

"Hold still!" cried one of the black-robed men. "Hold him tight!" he yelled to his colleagues as he leapt away and muttered something else under his breath. Suddenly Malfoy froze, like a statue,. eyes wide and staring, blond hair all over the place. Smiling triumphantly, he walked over and plucked the ring from his outstretched fingers. It was a heavy silver one, with what looked like a ruby set in it. The squad man held it up to the light. "Yes," he said knowledgeably, "an old ring, this is, infused with several Dark Arts incantations." 

Harry looked at Hermione and Ron. "I knew it," he whispered. 

The squad man gave Malfoy a disapproving look. "Make sure you don't bring anything else into Hogwarts like this." He clicked his fingers and the impromtu search squads suddenly disappeared. Malfoy was left paralysed where he was. 

Even Harry thought that was a bit unfair. 

"Oh dear…" Hermione walked over with her wand and de-paralysed Malfoy with a quick wave of her wand. The blond boy staggered and fell to his knees, breathing heavily. 

"My ring!" he exclaimed, looking round, panicked. His grey eyes were bright again, but for a different reason. "They took my ring! My mother gave that to me!" He slammed his fist down on the floor like a child denied a treat. "It was mine!" 

"Don't tell me you didn't know it had those spells infused in it," Hermione asked in disbelief, fists on her hip. She train shuddered again and started moving. The search had gone as quickly as it had come. 

"I knew it had spells in it, Granger," Malfoy spat, climbing to his feet and towering over the brunette. "What they were I don't know. I don't care. It was a gift from my mother from just before I came to Hogwarts." His fists clenched and his jaw set. "I want it back." 

"You'll have a bit of a problem then," Hermione said reprovingly, flicking her hair over her shoulder and 'hmphing' at Malfoy. "They Disapparated. With your ring." 

Draco's lip curled back in disgust. "My father will not stand for such things." 

"That's because your father is a Death Eater," Harry said before he could help himself, and jumped when he realised Malfoy had heard him. The pale-haired boy rounded on him, and Harry thought he was going to punch him square in the face, but Malfoy silently fumed for a few seconds before turning round and storming off. 

"Gosh, he likes you this year, doesn't he!" Ron chortled. And he meant it - twice so far Malfoy had stopped himself from insulting Harry. That had to be a record. 

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry replied, but he was far too preoccupied watching Malfoy's retreating back, wondering exactly what his change in attitude meant, and whether he should be grateful or worried. 

------------------------ 

End Chap1. 

A/N: 

Just curious, but in the American version of HP, do they change the spellings to American? Like Grey Gray, and Favourite Favorite? And are the promoting the film as HP & the Sorcerer's Stone rather than Philosopher's Stone (which it's called here. Why they changed it for the US I don't know)? 

Review please! I'll love you forever and ever! 

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 0.6.7 -->


	2. Chapter 2

Broken Bridges 

Broken Bridges.

A Harry Potter Fanfiction.

DISCLAIMER: Doesn't belong to me. Belongs to JK Rowling.

WARNING: Slash, gayness, whatever. Don't care. Am in bad mood. Will vent bad mood by writing. Hope this works. Grr. Page won't show me half my reviews. Damnit.

Chapter Two.

Hogwarts stood looming and dark on the cliff over the lake, its many lights twinkling, welcoming to those who had yet to enter its halls. The towers were too numerous to count, and anyone else would have missed it, but the students who had been there last year could see where there was a tower missing where it had collapsed. It struck at them painfully as they remembered. The mood was dampened by the memory of those who had died, and the thought that any of the poor first years would haunt Hogwarts as ghosts was too terrible to contemplate.

The new first years were being rowed over the black lake, lanterns bobbing with the waves and the golden reflections flickering in the water. If you looked hard enough, you could probably see the outline of Hagrid on the boat at the head of the little fleet. It was good to know some things never changed.

The rest of the school was being ferried to Hogwarts in carriages. Harry stared out of the window at Hogwarts as they were drawn closer. He was in need of a good feast. Maybe it would lift his mood a little. Malfoy's strange behaviour had been disturbing, and explanation after absurd explanation forced itself into Harry's head to try and solve the puzzle. In the end, the excuses he was coming up with were so ridiculous he turned it into a competition to see just how strange they could get. It was only when they all started involving feathers and a monkey that he decided to stop it before he was permanently scarred for life.

Professor McGonagall was watching him out of the corner of her eye. Harry could see her as he stared at the reflection in the window of the carriage. He watched the entrance of Hogwarts getting larger and larger as they drew closer, and felt (not for the first time) proud of being a member of the school. He was part of the main defence against Voldemort; a defence that was respected the world over.

"Professor, did you manage to get my books for me?" Harry asked, turning to his Head of House, pushing his glasses up his nose. He hadn't been allowed to Diagon Alley, so Professor McGonagall had said she would get them for him.

The straight-backed Professor nodded curtly. "They're in your dorm, Harry."

Harry smiled gratefully and jumped as thunder suddenly boomed loudly overhead. Hogwarts was lit up in a flash of lightning, and then the downpour came. Rain battered the carriage mercilessly, deafeningly loud. The students inside the carriage all looked round in surprise. Obviously a storm had not been expected, though there was rarely a week without several, these days.

Harry wondered how wet the first years would get crossing the lake.

Ron leaned over and whispered to Harry, "Maybe we should have given the first years the Canary Creams. I reckon feathers would've held off the rain better." Harry grinned at the mental image of a fleet of human-sized canaries crossing the lake.

-----------------------------

The Grand Hall looked as towering and magnificent as it always did. The candles hung above the tables, suspended in mid-air, and lending the room the gothic touch it really needed to shine. The ceiling reflected the sky outside - black clouds with lightning forks lighting it, a brilliant display of colour. The only thing quite eerie about it was that it was silent - no cracks as the lightning struck, nor any rolls of thunder, and from inside you could not hear the storm outside.

The Sorting Hat, looking as ratty and ragged as ever, had currently engulfed the head and shoulders of a first year and the school were waiting for it to shout out its choice of house. Hermione was watching the little boys and girls starry-eyed, and every few seconds would nudge Ron and say, "Aww, aren't they cute? I can't believe we were that small once!" to which her boyfriend would nod, sigh and say, "Yes, Herm', I can't believe it either." Harry wondered whether he was referring to the first years or not. He caught the redhead's eye and winked. Ron grinned back and twined his fingers with Hermione's. For all he sometimes acted like he wondered why he was going out with her, Harry knew Ron really loved Hermione, and had done for a long time.

At that moment, only their regular teachers were sitting at the high table. Dumbledore, with his white beard, was beaming cheerfully round at everyone. McGonagall was with the first years and her little list of names to call out (which she did so well). Snape sat bad-tempered by Dumbledore, but his sharp gaze was searching the Slytherin table calmly. Harry couldn't see anyone there to replace their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Maybe they were arriving later, a la 'Mad Eye Moody'. Though preferably without the whole 'trying-to-get-Harry-killed' agenda.

The Sorting Hat suddenly opened its mouth and yelled out, "RAVENCLAW!" The little boy took off the hat to the cheering and clapping of the Ravenclaw table, put the hat on the stool and went to join his fellow housemates.

"Jenkins, Alice!" Professor McGonagall shouted, and a slender, blonde girl walked up and sat down, pulling the hat over her head. It took almost no time at all for the hat to yell out, "SLYTHERIN!" The Slytherin table broke out into clapping as the girl went to join them.

Harry's gaze followed the girl to the Slytherin table. He immediately (if subconsciously) searched for the familiar blond head of his arch nemesis, and was profoundly uneasy when he could not find it among his fellow Slytherins. Pansy Parkinson seemed nervous as well - and probably for the same reason. Crabbe and Goyle were enjoying the Sorting Ceremony and didn't seem to have noticed their friend had failed to turn up.

The Gryffindor table burst into applause and Harry joined in belatedly as a dark-haired boy joined their table. He was becoming far too preoccupied by the whereabouts and activities of Malfoy. Maybe he was just paranoid, looking for spies everywhere he went, and all his suspicions immediately went to his blond enemy. He doubted Malfoy was doing anything illegal or remotely Death Eater-related, but that didn't ease his troubled mind. Maybe he plotting an extra evil plan against Harry to make up for his missed insulting opportunities earlier on today. That would make sense.

"Harry, pay attention!" Hermione hissed, giving a hard poke in the side. Harry jumped and twisted away from her, but knew she was right. He was letting himself become too suspicious of things. He needed to lighten up.

The rest of the new students didn't take long to be Sorted, and then Dumbledore coughed. The whole hall went quiet as the old Headmaster stood. Dumbledore ran his hands down his beard, and then looked around the hall, seemingly at every student in turn. "Welcome," he said, "to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Good luck to you all this year, for not only will you be working hard for the end of year tests, but you are attending this school in a time of great peril. This year will probably be the hardest to get through for most of us, for a very long time. In your classes, remember this - every charm, spell or potion you learn will have to be used outside the classroom. Some will save your life."

There was a stunned, uncomfortable silence in the hall. Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore had never made a speech like that before at the beginning of year. But, then again, this year probably called for it. The first years fidgeted nervously in their seats, glancing at each other in wide-eyed terror.

"Also," Dumbledore continued, "there are several changes to Hogwarts. You will see several adults around the school who you will not recognise as staff. As Hogwarts is an obvious target for Voldemort," - several first years gasped at the use of Voldemort's name - "they have been hired for your protection. Two adults will be assigned to each House. You are to respect them the same way you respect me, and will follow their orders if they give you any. This year, we welcome back a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher those of you in the fifth year and above will remember." At this point he seemed to look straight at Harry and wink. Harry frowned, not understanding. "He is also one of the protectors we have hired this year, and is assigned to the Gryffindor House."

The school attempted to digest this and Harry saw Snape slumping in his seat, obviously annoyed at failing to get the job yet again. Same old Potions Master. Harry, Ron and Hermione all suspected Snape would never get the job. He really was suited to being Potions Master, despite the fact he was "evil, evil, EVIL!" (according to Ron).

"And, without further ado, enjoy the meal!" Dumbledore grinned brightly, clapped his hands, and the feast was officially opened. The conversation started quite hesitantly after the Headmaster's surprising speech, but then the noise was at full pitch and everyone seemed to have forgotten. Ron was helping himself to some chicken, heaping it on his plate while Hermione watched him in horror as she helped herself to some potatoes. Harry waited for Ron to finish with the chicken, glancing over at the Slytherin table. No blond head.

"I wonder where Malfoy went," Harry wondered aloud. Seamus Finnigan, his Head Boy badge half-hidden in a fold in his robes, raised an eyebrow at him.

"What d'you want Malfoy for? The less I see him the better," the Irish teenager told him, searching for some gravy, which had disappeared up the far end of the table. "Probably gone to sabotage our common room or something. Sounds like him."

"Ah, but we have our mysterious protectors in our common room, do we not?" Ron pointed out with a wave of his fork. "He'll have them to deal with! Would serve him right, I tell you!"

"Who could it be?" Hermione asked, scowling at Ron for speaking with his mouth full. "They said we should remember them. If the fifth years were in the first year then, we would have been in the third year…"

They all looked at each other in surprise as the name of one person crossed their minds. Ron looked like he was about to spit out his food. "They wouldn't have-" he said, with his mouth full again.

"But he said he couldn't stay!" Harry exclaimed, but at the same time hope was lifting his spirits to incredible proportions. "I mean, we all begged him to stay, but he said he couldn't!"

"Maybe /that's/ why Snape doesn't look so happy," Ron pointed out. "His job got stolen by the same person twice."

Harry began to silently pray that their suspicions were right, and their new teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts was who they hoped it was. He looked over at Snape again, as if that would give him confirmation, but the Potions teacher had his glare pointed at the back of the hall. Harry turned to look, and could see a familiar figure peering round the slightly opened door, searching for a way to sneak in. "Why, hello Malfoy," he murmured under his breath. "What have you been up to today?"

Of course, the blond Slytherin couldn't hear him from his position across the hall. Harry continued to watch him, suspicions high again. He couldn't help it. He was trained to be this way, and it had been drilled into him for the last two years that every suspicion, however small, might one day save lives. And he had plenty of reason to suspect Draco Malfoy. He was still waiting to hear about Arthur Weasley's proposed enquiry into the Malfoy family.

Malfoy looked around again, then crouched down low and crept round the door, hidden from the sight of the teachers by students and tables. He pushed the door closed very slowly so as not to grab attention, and then crawled over to the Slytherin table, along the back side, and appeared in his seat between Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

//What /has/ he been up to?//

Immediately, Malfoy was the centre of discussion, with the others no doubt asking where he was and what he'd been doing. Malfoy grinned and started to talk to them in a low voice. Very soon he had the attention of almost every Slytherin at his end of the table.

"Who's that?" asked a small voice, and Harry turned to see a first year had asked this question of Ron. "The Slytherin who just came in?"

//Ron'll give the poor kid nightmares with his tales about Malfoy.//

"Him?" Ron quickly swallowed his food. "That's Draco Malfoy. You want to steer clear of him and his gang. They like causing trouble for Gryffindors. Harry and Malfoy are arch enemies."

"Harry? Harry…Potter?" The first year, a small boy with brown hair, seemed extremely nervous sitting near seventh years. "I heard he came to the school…"

"Yup." Ron grinned at Harry, and then pointed at him. The first year stared at Harry in awe and admiration. "That's Harry. He's my best mate. And he hates Malfoy, which is always a good thing."

Harry smiled faintly, then looked back across at the Slytherin in question. He still had the others enthralled by whatever he was saying. The bad thing about people like him was that they were charismatic, and that instantly drew people to his side. Harry knew plenty of people outside the Slytherin house who actually had crushes on him, which he couldn't really understand, having disliked Malfoy intensely for the last six years.

At that moment, Malfoy's grey eyes met Harry's green, and for a moment they just stared at each other. Harry was determined not to look away, not to back down. He backed down from Malfoy far too much. The blond boy just stared back, then smirked and said something to the Slytherins, still staring at Harry. Pansy Parkinson looked over and pulled a face at him. Malfoy mouthed "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry mouthed back, "I saw you come in late," saying the words slowly so hopefully Malfoy would understand.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, giving him the patronising look he had come to expect over the years. "So?" he mouthed with a small shrug.

"What were you doing?" Harry didn't expect him to answer, but thought it was worth a try anyway.

Malfoy's smiled brilliantly, and Harry did a double take. Had he ever seen Malfoy smile like that before? He didn't think he had, which was probably why he couldn't see why people fancied Malfoy before-

//Wait a minute, where did that come from?//

Malfoy seemed not to have seen Harry's expression, for he then tapped the side of his nose, indicating it was his secret. Harry glared across at him, and Malfoy offered another smile in return. Harry felt it from his fingers to his toes. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach after the rush had gone, leaving him feel cold.

//I'm going insane, I swear.//

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked in a small voice at his side, and when he looked over, he could see a worried expression on her face. "You just shivered. It's not cold…"

Great, so Hermione had noticed. Thank God she hadn't seen Malfoy smiling at him. Because then the ideas would have been flying and Harry wouldn't have heard the end of it from her, and then she'd tell Ron, who'd laugh himself silly.

"Felt cold for a second," Harry told her, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's gone now."

How he hoped it had gone.

------------------------------

The new password turned out to be "Bertie Bott", which reminded Ron of how he'd thrashed Hermione at Exploding Snap and he had eaten all her Every Flavour Beans. Hermione just glared darkly at him, making the redhead shut up, looking cowed. Harry snickered. It took a while for them to get in, since the first years (and all the other Gryffindors) had to go in first. Hermione and Seamus were expected to be at the rear, so they were, and Ron and Harry stayed with them.

Harry just wanted to collapse in his bed, he wanted to go to sleep. Today had been too strange for his liking. As he clambered in through the portrait hole, he noticed that all the others had stopped in front of him. "What's going on?" he asked, curious. Was something in the common room? Maybe Malfoy /had/ done something.

No one answered him. Hermione was calling from behind, trying to get people moving as she couldn't get in with everyone standing there. Harry started trying to push his way through to the front. The Gryffindors reluctantly parted for him when they realised he was there, and Harry eventually managed to get into the common room itself.

And stopped dead.

Sitting in two of the chairs, arranged so a table was between them where a game of wizards chess was set up, were the two men whom Harry presumed were the Gryffindors' designated 'protectors'. Both men he knew very well. One had black hair that fell to his shoulders, and piercing eyes that rested sharply on him. The other had light brown hair, with wisps of grey in it, with one larger streak of it at the front, framing the left side of his thin face. They all stared at each other, Harry in shock, and the two men looked only slightly uncomfortable.

Harry's voice caught in his throat. "Sirius?" he choked out eventually. "Is that really you?"

The black-haired man grinned wolfishly. "Hallo there, Harry. Nice to see you again."

Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He blinked furiously. "But, what are you doing here? I know you had a pardon from Azkaban last year, but I didn't think-"

"Your old Headmaster reckons I'm worth investing in," was the reply, with a wider grin. "Come on then, boy, get the poor kids in. We won't bite." Sirius then turned his dazzling smile on his companion, who jumped and stared blankly at Sirius, refusing to rise to the bait. "Will we, Remus?"

Remus Lupin continued to stare at Sirius, as if daring him to go further. "I might," he said darkly, and Sirius raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

"Are…" Harry didn't even want to ask, in case the answer was no. "Are you are new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin?" He didn't know how Dumbledore had managed to get Professor Lupin past the Ministry of Magic, after Snape had 'accidentally' let slip about the fact the teacher was a werewolf. Harry thought he was in shock. They'd suspected it might have been Lupin, but he didn't think any of them had really believed it might be true.

Lupin turned his glare from Sirius, and transformed it into the friendly expression Harry was used to seeing there. "That I am. Apparently Dumbledore also saw me as an investment worth having."

Harry wanted to whoop for joy. He grinned at the old friends, and then turned to coax the students in. It took a while, but eventually everyone was inside and settling down. Hermione looked about to faint, and Ron was full of questions for how they both managed to get hired. Harry just sat with them and enjoyed their company, feeling happy for the first time today.

------------------------------

Later that night, Harry lay drowsily in his bed, staring up at the drapes. This felt oddly familiar. Why was it that he couldn't sleep? Maybe the nerves were getting to him after all. He always said that they weren't, that he didn't care. Maybe it was all a lie.

The Malfoy incidences were slowly and surely getting to him. He couldn't understand it. He'd always counted on Malfoy being the one constant in his life, that one thing he could deal with because he'd dealt with it before. But no, he should have guessed Malfoy would have changed his attitude just to be difficult. He was probably laughing at him right now.

He tried to recall the Ferret incidence to lighten his mood again. Malfoy had gone to attack him, he remembered, but what he'd said to make the blond boy resort to physical violence eluded his memory. Malfoy was one for verbal assault, usually. And then he remembered Mad Eye Moody (he still remembered Crouch as Moody, even though he knew they weren't the same) shouting something, and he had turned around to find a white ferret shivering on the cobblestones.

Ron had been in hysterics. But now he thought about it, he couldn't remember laughing. In fact, there wasn't really anything funny about it at all. And then Moody had gone one step further when Malfoy had attempted to make a dash for it, and started bouncing the ferret. Harry remembered the dull thud with which the ferret would hit the ceiling, and then another thud as he hit the floor. It made him sick to the stomach. How easy it would have been for Moody to bounce him slightly too hard, and break his back.

Not even Harry would have wished that on Malfoy.

He realised now that he had been grateful when Professor McGonagall had arrived to stop it. And he remembered the mussed up Malfoy climbing painfully to his feet. He had been /hurt/, how badly Harry didn't know. However much Malfoy annoyed him, and picked on him, he didn't want /anyone/ to get hurt, and that included the Slytherin. Thinking about the consequences of that, he could think about how harsh it had actually been. If that had been him, the bruising he would have received would probably have been enough to keep him bedridden for a week.

//My God, I really am going crazy. I'm feeling sorry for /Malfoy/.//

It was just the tiredness, he thought, eyes still open. Though, if he was tired, shouldn't he be able to sleep? And if he kept thinking like this, he was going to drive himself mad by the time morning came. Maybe a walk would do him good.

Decided on that, Harry got to his feet and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, and pulled it on. He could hear the slight snores of some of the others in his dorm room, and quietly slipped out. The common room was empty, and then he slid out of the portrait hole, the Fat Lady jerking out of a deep sleep with a little cry, and then looking extremely confused when she could see nothing.

He crept quietly along the corridors, knowing that if he was careful enough he didn't need the Marauder's Map. He could feel the cold of the stones through his shoes, and as he wandered, he realised how tense this year would be, with Lupin and Sirius on the scene, and Snape being able to hold a grudge for however long he needed to get revenge. And Snape hated Harry enough as it was, without him now having his godfather and a friend who would die rather than betray them now at Hogwarts as well.

As he peered round a corner, he saw the gargoyle that hid the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Had he really wandered this far already? It didn't seem more than ten minutes since he'd left the Gryffindor tower. Maybe he wasn't going insane, but going senile.

The urge to go and find Dumbledore and pour out his worries suddenly overwhelmed him at full force. He was too young for this, too young to stand up to Voldemort, too weak a wizard, and no one understood. How was he supposed to kill someone that powerful, when their wands wouldn't even go against each other? And Voldemort had all those followers who would do anything to gain favour in their Master's eyes, and would kill him with no regret. Who did he have? Ron and Hermione and Crookshanks the cat.

The idea of running to Dumbledore made him feel childish. He was seventeen, couldn't he stand up for himself now? He didn't need to go and find an old man who had enough worries for himself. Did he really think he was the only one against Voldemort? Dumbledore was probably spending most of his energy setting up defences or finding out how to destroy the Dark Wizard. He didn't need to listen to the petty worries of a young boy.

He walked along to the gargoyle and lay on invisible hand on its smooth stone arm, as if that would make him feel better. Strangely enough, it did. He smiled a little. He knew Dumbledore was always there, and would always help him out. He didn't need to worry.

Just as he was feeling better, something solid walked straight into him. "Ow!" he cried, falling sideways. He heard an echoing "Ow!" from whoever had rammed into him. He tripped over the gargoyle's foot and fell backwards, landing on his back, the wind knocked out of him. He stared up at the ceiling, wondering how many times he'd be doing this today.

The Invisibility Cloak had slipped from around him, and he pulled himself upright to find himself looking up at a very familiar face. He inwardly groaned.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

Draco Malfoy. Again.

Harry got up, pulling the shimmering silver cloak into his hands. "I should be asking you the same thing."

"I'm not the one sneaking around with an Invisibility Cloak," Malfoy sneered, giving the item in question a scathing glance. He put one fist on a slender hip, and then raised his grey eyes to Harry's face and gave him a long look. "So?"

"So what?" Harry asked, confused.

"Why /are/ you here?"

"Planning on running to dear old Snape?" Harry countered. "Oh dear, Harry Potter's on the loose!"

"You're such a pain in the arse, you know that, Potter?"

"I'm so glad."

"And stubborn."

"One of my best qualities, I assure you."

"I'll bet it is. I reckon that's the only reason you're alive. You Know Who will give up trying to kill you if you keep this up. I know I would."

"Oh, so you've thought of getting me killed before?"

"Plenty of times." Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest, the smirk reappearing. "Why, don't tell me you haven't thought the same of myself. I know I'm not your favourite person."

"I've never thought of killing anyone but Voldemort," Harry said truthfully, thoroughly confused as to the point of this conversation.

//As long as he doesn't smile again, I'm okay.//

At this, Malfoy looked genuinely surprised, which Harry found even more unnerving. This year might turn out to be more interesting than he'd anticipated.

"Oh really?" Malfoy looked at him suspiciously. "Well then, Harry Potter must be as noble as they all say."

"I'm not the only one full of surprises today," Harry said, looking Malfoy up and down. He could see black silk pyjamas beneath the cloak the other boy was wearing as protection against the cold.

Malfoy snorted. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"The fact that you're being awfully civil to me today."

"I was? Gosh, I must be losing my touch. My bad," Malfoy said, sarcasm heavy in his voice and a small smile lighting his pale face. "Guess I'll have to correct it, won't I?"

Harry sighed softly, running a hand through his unruly hair. "Why do we have to fight, Malfoy? There's no point. Can't you just stay being nice to me?"

"I'm a Malfoy," came the immediate reply, and Draco drew himself up to full height, where he was about the same height as Harry. There was a defensive glint in his eyes. "And you're the famous, great, wonderful Harry Potter." He dropped his voice, and his tone was fierce. "You're everything my family stands against, Harry."

The sound of his first name rolled off the tongue of Draco Malfoy made it sound forbidden, wanted but never touched. Harry felt the tingling at the base of his spine and forced himself to ignore it.

"But what do you stand against?" Harry asked, voice just as hushed and harsh. "You say your family stands against what I embody, but are you included in that, Draco?" He saw the startled look in Malfoy's eyes at the same use of his name, but it was gone in a flash.

"I am," Malfoy hissed. "I will always be, whether I want to or not. I cannot escape my family."

"You could try."

Malfoy's laugh was bitter and nearing hysterical in its quality. Harry shivered and involuntarily backed up a step. Malfoy gave him a lop-sided smile, as bitter as his laugh. "Have you ever met my father, Potter?" So it was back to last names again.

"Yes," Harry replied. Whenever Malfoy had spoken of his father, it had always been to defend him. "I've seen him several times."

"What did you think of him?" It was an honest question.

Harry didn't think Malfoy wanted a sugarcoated version of his opinion. "He's a nasty man. He's selfish, domineering and horrid."

"Then you know how I feel, somewhat." Malfoy chuckled darkly, though Harry didn't know what was funny. Malfoy stared down at the floor for a moment, then looked back up. His eyes were blazing, and Harry's breath caught in his throat at the intensity of the gaze. "I cannot disobey my father, Potter. He'd kill me."

Harry didn't think Malfoy was joking. "Can't you run away? Ask Dumbledore for protection?"

"If you think that is an option for me," Malfoy told him, "then you have no idea of the power my father possesses."

"Enough power to take you away from Dumbledore's protection?" Harry asked in disbelief. Looking down, he realised he was twisting the Invisibility Cloak in his hands. He forced himself to stop.

"You'd be surprised." Malfoy shrugged, gaze sliding from Harry to the gargoyle, as if it could offer him help instead. Suddenly he took what looked like a pocket watch from a fold in his robes. He stared at it for a minute. "It's late. One of the teachers will probably be along soon, if they haven't heard us already." The smirk plastered itself easily across Malfoy's features. Harry felt like a door had been closed on a side of Draco Malfoy he felt he would have liked. "Can't be seen conversing nicely with Potter, can I?"

Harry bristled, feeling like something had been taken from him unfairly. "Of course. Couldn't let that ruin your reputation, Malfoy."

"Reputation is everything," was the cryptic response. "Image can be the one thing between life and death." He grinned, a predatory expression, knowing he had Harry at the disadvantage. Then he turned and left, striding down the corridor without a care. Harry glared at his back and then turned to stalk back to the Gryffindor tower. He forgot to put the Invisibility Cloak back on.

Just what had happened back there? Draco Malfoy, the seemingly impenetrable enemy, had let down his defences for two minutes, and let Harry see something he wouldn't soon forget. And then the walls had gone back up, leaving him confused and with plenty to think about.

The Fat Lady seemed to have sensed his preoccupation and let him through without question, but Harry knew he was only lucky that far when he entered the common room and saw Sirius Black sitting in a chair by the fire, waiting for him.

"I heard you leave," Sirius said softly, regarding his godson with a tired look. "You shouldn't be out at night."

"It was worth it," Harry replied quietly.

"Oh?" Sirius stood up and faced him, expression worried, dark eyes clouded. "Meet anyone interesting on your travels?"

"I…don't want to talk about it." Harry lowered his gaze, then, after a silence which neither tried to break, he said goodnight and disappeared into the dorm room to finally get some sleep.

------------------------

End Chap2.

Thank you so much for the reviews! Wow, I didn't think I'd get that many, to be honest. And I was so pleased when several people commented that I had them in character ^_^ I loved it. I once got told in English that I write nice essays because I have "a feel for the writing" (Mrs Hepburn's words, not mine). I was so pleased! So thank you, that is the greatest compliment you can give me, in my opinion.

All the time I've been writing this I've had a little picture of Tom Felton up to inspire my Draco moments. Doesn't he look /perfect/ as Draco? ::more gushing:: I think he looks wonderful. I think he'll do brilliantly! ::waves Tom Felton banner::

Please review! Pretty please? Pretty pretty please? I'll love you forever and ever and ever!


	3. Chapter 3

Broken Bridges.

A Harry Potter Fanfiction.

DISCLAIMER: Do not own Harry Potter ::sob:: JKR does. Wish I did, though! I'd give Draco back…honestly! Don't look at me like that, I would give him back, I swear!

A/N: Oh My God. I just saw the Harry Potter movie. And, in the words of Ron: "That was bloody brilliant." Everyone must go see it!!! I got to the advance previews, but when it comes out on the 16th on general release, you must all get tickets for it or die trying!

Chapter Three.

It was pitch black in the dorm, the round room filled with the slight moans as one boy tossed and turned in his bed, gripped in a nightmare. None of the other Gryffindors were disturbed, sleeping peacefully in their own beds.

By the bed of the uneasily resting boy sat another figure, slumped, exhausted. Unable to sleep himself for the groans of the boy caught in his dreams, and for the fact that he could smell the fear strongly, he had come to sit by the boy, to wait out the course of his dream.

Of all the things Harry Potter had, it had never been nightmares. Sirius had never told him that his godson suffered from them. He hoped this wasn't a normal occurrence, for nightmares as strong as these could drive a person insane.

Remus ran a hand through his hair, eyelids drooping as he watched Harry kick out at nothing under his bedclothes. He and Sirius were sharing a small room off the Gryffindor 7th year dorm room, and he had left his friend behind to come here. Light would come in just a few hours, and he could already scent the retreating darkness, receding to the murky September day. It would rain again.

It would feel strange, being back at Hogwarts as a teacher. He had thought that after that last incidence he would have been ruined. But no, yet again Dumbledore had hired him, after two accidents with Snape. He wondered how much resistance Severus had put up when Dumbledore had informed him who would be put in the vacant teaching spot. He'd probably threatened to resign.

He had expressed this worry to Dumbledore, who had only smiled, eyes twinkling, and said, "Severus Snape's job has a special twist this year." He had not elaborated, but Remus was not stupid. He could guess it had something to do with Voldemort. He had to admit it, Severus commanded respect. He was most likely spying in some form, and that had to be extremely dangerous: Remus didn't know if he'd have had the courage to step into Snape's shoes right now.

Dangerous times we live in, he thought, gaze tracing the angry red scar across Harry's forehead. He didn't think he wanted to be in Harry's place either. Not with Voldemort after him. He had as much fear for He Who Must Not Be Named as anyone else, if not more.

He could feel it, more now than ever. It clawed at his mind when he was alone. Maybe trying to drive him mad. But whatever it was doing, it was still there. The wolf. Just below the surface, waiting. It had sensed the flowing of Dark Magic in the air, just as he had. Wanting to follow it.

Once Voldemort had offered, it hadn't taken the Dementors long to leave Azkaban for the Dark. It had been, for him, the scariest moment of Voldemort's rise. If the Dementors left their side, would the wolf, the Dark in him, force him to do the same?

It wasn't until warm hands slid up his arms to his shoulders did he realise he was trembling. He shivered at the sudden warmth, and leaned back against a solid chest. "You think too much," a quiet voice murmured against his ear. "Stop looking so worried."

Remus frowned, seeing that Harry seemed to have slipped into safer dreams. "I couldn't sleep."

The hands slid along his shoulders, making him tremble as they touched the slender scars beneath his cloak. Maybe it was the wolf part of him that made them sensitive, but it wasn't his choice that a certain person managed to use them to make his whole body melt.

"Don't you have lessons to teach today, Rem'? Don't you need sleep to be able to teach?" Sirius asked softly. "You've been up all night."

"I noticed you were gone for a bit," Remus replied, the sharpness of his tone dulled by exhaustion, but he knew Sirius heard it. He could feel it. "When Harry was gone."

"Playing the jealous lover, are we now?" Sirius murmured, not moving from his position at Remus' back. He loved to push his friend like this, knowing it was dangerous, but revelling in it all the same.

"I am _not_ your lover," Remus hissed, tensing beneath his friend's large hands. "You seem to have forgotten that."

Sirius' hands stilled and the black-haired man let out a soft sigh. "And to think I thought you'd be pleased to have me back."

"I would be better pleased if you didn't act like the last god-knows-how-many-years haven't happened," Remus replied, standing and heading back to the room they were sharing. Sirius stared dumbly after him, trying to work out what he meant, before making sure Harry was still asleep and then following. He felt a little guilty. Remus was obviously upset about something.

When he softly closed the door to their room, Remus was climbing into bed, pulling the covers over him and facing the wall, away from Sirius and his own bed. Sirius watched him do this in silence, before saying, "You mean…the years after Lilly and James died."

"What did you think I meant?" Remus snapped, voice muffled by the duvet.

"What did you mean by saying I act as if they never happened?" Sirius persevered, staying in his place by the door. Remus was usually the quiet, studious person, but when he got upset, he got upset. An unhappy Remus was not a good Remus. Sirius decided staying by the exit would increase his chances of living with his body intact if he accidentally got Remus worked up a bit too much and he lost control.

Sirius jumped when the brown-haired professor sat bolt upright, glaring across the room at him. "You know very well what I mean, Sirius. You just expect things to go back to being the way they were, and I cannot deal with that right now!"

"The way things were?" Sirius echoed, sensing the tension. "With…us?"

"Again, what did you think I meant?" Remus ran a nervous hand through his hair, looking away from Sirius at last. He drew his knees up to his chest, and pulled a strand of grey hair in front of his eyes. "Do you know how I got this?" he asked. "Worrying about _you_, Sirius. Worrying about what was happening to you in Azkaban. Worrying about how I never saw you being the traitor. I became a teacher because of that! I wanted to make people see the signs, be able to fight them, so they wouldn't go through the same things I did. To spot when wizards started going bad. And then I found out you were innocent! Twelve years spent thinking I could have saved James and Lilly, twelve years spent loathing myself for the fact I let you…I let you _violate_ me." He was babbling now, voice rising and rising. "I let you sleep in my bed! I let you touch me! And, as far as I was concerned, you _betrayed_ us!"

"And then you realised it wasn't me," Sirius said gently. "And you beat yourself up over nothing."

"Oh no…never nothing," was the hushed reply. "It got worse. I was supposed to be teaching people against this sort of thing, but I hadn't even known who'd really done it until then! And then I beat myself up for what I thought was a betrayal of _you_. How could I have thought you had done it? You were James' closest friend, how could you have done it? And I realised how utterly stupid I was, and my hair just started growing grey hairs even faster."

"And now you think…you think I want us to go back to being lovers? You think I want to ignore Azkaban and everything afterwards." Sirius shook his head, understanding dawning. He stepped slowly towards Remus, eyes following the werewolf's every move as he approached. Remus didn't watch him coming, but Sirius knew Remus didn't have to use his eyes to follow him.

"Don't you?" Remus murmured, shrugging slightly as he calmed down.

Sirius eased himself onto the edge of the bed, and Remus averted his eyes towards the wall so as not to look towards the taller man. "You really think I'm that selfish?"

Lupin shrugged again. "I don't know what to think anymore."

"I would never, _ever_ push you into something you didn't want," Sirius assured him softly, reaching out one hand and letting his fingers trail gently down one smooth cheek. "I told you that all those years ago, when we first started out, remember? I never forced you into anything, and I won't force you into anything now. If you want us to be like we were, then let me know. I'm always here." His fingers slid down to Remus' chin, and he pulled his friend's face round to his. Remus' eyes searched his for a moment as Sirius leaned forward and pressed his lips to the other man's, fleetingly, before pulling back. "I never stopped loving you," Sirius whispered. He saw Remus' eyes widen slightly, and he smiled, before getting up and sliding into his own bed, settling down for a few hours sleep before he had to get up again.

Lupin did not sleep at all that night.

--------------------------------

The lake was freezing. Of course, one would expect that, it being the dead of night and all, and in autumn. The water was like liquid ice against his legs, numbing them mercilessly as he waded out from the shore towards the terrible blackness that started where the rock abruptly cut off and the water deepened.

Harry stared down over the rock ledge, trying to see down into the depths of the water. His robes swirled around his legs with the gentle lapping of the water itself, sticking to his frozen skin. He was in the lake up to his waist already, and could only feel his body from above the water level.

Something told him he needed to get into the deep water. It was pulling him, calling to him, like a song or melody he knew down in his heart, an old lullaby. He needed to get away from the shore, away from the land, into the water. Deeper into the water…

"Don't, Harry." He froze where he was, eyes wide as the voice drifted to his ears. No, it couldn't be true…it was all going to end now. Right here. And no one could save him, because no one knew where he was.

Harry slowly turned round, belatedly reaching for his wand. He held it out, the wood shaking in his trembling grip. The hooded figure was standing on shore, one hand outstretched. He could see a wand clasped in the other hand, by the figure's side.

"Don't go further out, Harry," he whispered from beneath the hood. "Come to me."

"Never!" Harry cried, backing up one step. He was so close to the edge, another step or two backwards and he'd be there, over and beyond the rock ledge. "I will never come to you, Voldemort!"

The wizard didn't move his offered hand, or his wand arm. "It's safer here, Harry Potter. You don't think that bumbling fool Dumbledore can keep you safe forever, do you? I got you once, I will get you again. And now you have no protection against me…just a foolish notion that somehow you will defeat me in battle."

"A-And why can't I kill you?" Harry stammered. The cold wind was chilling him to the bone, making him shiver uncontrollably. "I almost have b-before."

"Your mother and her little tricks, my boy," Voldemort reminded him, but did not move all the same, "are the only things that saved you from me back then. What is here to protect you now? Nothing."

"I c-could c-curse you!" Harry exclaimed, holding out his wand and waving it a bit for effect, or what he hoped was an effect. By God, he was so _cold_…

"You don't have the energy or the knowledge to curse me," was the curt reply. "I am beyond you, Harry Potter. Beyond your wildest imagination. You cannot comprehend the power that I have at my disposal, and nor will you ever."

"Y-You d-don't scare m-me!" Harry cried bravely, wishing he could move, move backwards from the shore. He needed to get _into_ the lake.

"I somehow do not think that is the truth," Voldemort said. It seemed as if it was just his voice, for his body had not moved. "But if it is, then you are a foolish, foolish boy, and I will teach you a lesson you will not forget in a hurry."

Harry backed up a step.

Voldemort moved then. His arm dropped to his side. "Don't step further, Harry."

Something clicked in Harry's head. He stared at the wizard suspiciously. "Why d-don't you want me to g-go into the lake?" he asked.

"Because you will die." Voldemort laughed, high-pitched and hysterical. "And while that would put an end to most of my problems, I wish to have a hand in your death myself. Suicide is not the way to go, Potter."

"I won't d-die," Harry said, feeling confident. He held his head high. "The lake is c-calling to me. It won't k-kill me."

"How do you know that?" Voldemort cocked his head to one side, curious.

Harry smiled, the knowledge that he would not die filling him with bliss, and he stepped backwards off the rock ledge. In an instant the freezing water had enveloped his body and he was sinking. He opened his mouth and it filled with the lake-water. He screamed, bubbles frothing from his lips. Looking up, he could see the shaky image of Voldemort looking down on him from above the water. A voice was speaking in his ears.

"You're drowning, Harry. Drowning…didn't we say you'd die…you're drowning…drowning…"

He flailed, desperately trying to get back up to the surface, but his body just kept sinking. He half-turned in the water, and tried to scream in horror. A body was tied to the rock face, chained in place. The hair waved gently in the water. The body's face was pale, far too white even in the dark, and his eyes were closed.

It was Draco Malfoy.

And then Draco's head moved. He lifted it, and sightless white eyes stared straight at Harry. His lips parted, but the voice that reached Harry's ears wasn't Draco's.

"Beware, Harry Potter. Beware. A truth, disguised as a lie, disguised as a truth."

"…drowning….drowning…you're going to die…along with him…"

He tried to scream again, closing his eyes.

"HARRY!"

His eyes flew open again, but he was not underwater. He was lying in bed in the Gryffindor dorm room, with several blurred, worried faces overhead. His scar was burning, agonisingly painful, on his forehead. He groaned and pressed a hand to it. "Huh?"

"You were having a nightmare," Ron said slowly, pulling his dressing gown tighter around him. "Well, I think you were…you just suddenly started screaming. Woke us all up."

A nightmare…so he'd been dreaming. He should have realised sooner…and what an odd dream it _had_ been.

"Oh…sorry guys." Harry sat up slowly, the pain of his scar dulling to a horrid, aching thump in time with his heartbeat. "I had a…bad dream."

"That's an understatement," Dean Thomas said, rolling his eyes.

"You alright, though?" Seamus asked, a little nervously, as if he thought Harry was going to suddenly leap up and attack them at any moment.

"I'm fine." Harry grinned weakly. "Just a nightmare. A stupid dream."

Seamus and Dean looked at each other, then shrugged and wandered away, talking together. Ron watched them leave, and then said, "Your scar was hurting, wasn't it."

"How do you know that?" Harry asked defensively.

Ron suddenly grabbed his forehead and cried out in fake pain, an impression of Harry.

"Oh…well, yeah, it did." Harry groaned. "I dreamed about Voldemort. And about jumping into the lake."

Ron eyed him much like Seamus just had. "Sometimes I wonder about you and your mental health, Harry."

"Then you're not the only one." Harry rubbed his forehead again and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and blinked as he searched for his glasses so all the things that were blurry would come back into focus.

"So…what did you dream about, besides jumping into the lake?" Ron settled himself on the edge of Harry's bed, curious.

"Well…I was trying to get into the deep part of the lake, and Voldemort was trying to stop me." Harry frowned at the absurdity of it. "He said I'd drown, but the only reason he was stopping me was because he wanted to kill me himself. For some stupid reason, I thought drowning was beyond me, so I jumped in. There was…a body in the lake, chained to the rock, and it tried to speak to me. But it wasn't his voice…someone else's…"

"His? Someone we know?" Ron asked, picking up on Harry's words.

"Kind of," Harry replied. "But this voice said something like…'Beware, a truth, disguised as a lie, disguised as a truth'…"

"A truth, disguised as a lie, disguised as a truth?" Ron repeated, perplexed and uncomprehending. "I don't get it."

"Neither do I." Harry started rummaging around for his school things. It was the first day of term that day, he had remembered with an inward groan. And first lesson was Charms. "Unfortunately, my scar was hurting, which probably means it's supposed to mean something."

"Oh. Pants."

"Yes, exactly. Now come on, let's get dressed and down to breakfast."

-------------------------------

After they managed to traverse the staircases (today they seemed to want to move more frequently than normal) and got into the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione saw that they were still quite early. The Hall was only half-full. They slid into their usual seats and helped themselves to cereal and toast. Hermione had brought a book with her that she was reading, and was thoroughly engrossed in that, while Harry and Ron discussed the unfairness of making them study for and take their N.E.W.T's this year, with the whole Voldemort business going on.

"We should just do Defence Against the Dark Arts," Ron was saying as he poked his cereal with a spoon.

"And if you got poisoned?" Hermione said, not looking up from her book. "You'd need Potions for that kind of thing, Ron."

"Well…" Ron had to admit it: Hermione was right, as usual. "But what if you…I dunno…just don't get poisoned?"

Hermione didn't dignify that with an answer.

First lesson was Charms, and it went with no unusual occurrences. They were learning how to control things in the air, rather than just levitating. This was difficult, as Professor Flitwick had explained, and by the end of the lesson most of the students had considerable sized lumps on their heads as heavy flying objects fell on them, out of control. The whole point of this was to actually be able to control something in mid-air, and use it to your advantage, like battling with a sword. "It will help in a struggle," he told them. Harry could feel everyone look to him, but he attempted to ignore it.

Transfiguration was the next lesson. Yet again, Professor McGonagall was their teacher, and they all wondered if it was at all possible that they could have had a different teacher for at least _one_ year. As they had expected, it was getting more advanced in that class. The objects to be transfigured were a bit bigger than last year. Of course, like in Charms, no one managed to actually complete the Transfiguration successfully. They were supposed to be transfiguring a wooden chair in a snake. Hermione was pleased with herself at the end of the lesson, as she had managed to get her chair to be made out of snakeskin. Ron, however, wasn't too happy, as all he'd managed to do was get his chair to collapse in a heap. Professor McGonagall wasn't very happy with Ron.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was scheduled for after lunch, which filled the Gryffindors with cheer through lunch, as they knew that lesson would be fun with Professor Lupin at the helm. The news that Lupin was back had spread like wildfire, and while most of the school was on his side, the Slytherins were stoutly against the re-hiring of the werewolf. Snape said nothing for or against the behaviour of his house.

Harry could barely contain his excitement, and scoffed down his pie and pumpkin juice. Hermione looked over at him in distaste. "_Honestly,_ Harry," she said, then went back to reading her book. It was the same one she'd had at breakfast, and she was going through it between mouthfuls of food.

Ron peered at the book in her lap, puzzled. "What _is_ that thing you've got?" he asked. Hermione held it up and the two boys looked at the old, dark cover. It was a book they had seen before, and dread settled in their stomachs. _Moste Potente Potions_.

"Herm', _why_ have you got that book again?" Ron asked. "What do you want us to go _now_?"

"Nothing," Hermione replied cheerfully, smiling slightly and settling the book back in her lap. "I'm going through it for reading. Professor McGonagall recommended to Snape that I read it."

Harry looked at Ron, and Ron looked at Harry. Then they both stared at Hermione. "Why?" the both asked in unison.

"Why do you think?" she asked, turning one page over and continuing reading the spidery old writing on the other side. There was an illustration of a wizard in the middle of being eaten by what looked like a horrible black blob. Ron looked at Harry in alarm.

"I think we're both lost here, 'Mione," Harry told her, glancing at Ron for support. "Do fill us in."

She sighed, as if wondering why she got lumbered with the boys with minds of young children. "For things to use against You Know Who," she said, rolling her eyes. "Isn't it obvious?"

"It is now." Ron grinned at her apologetically. She rolled her eyes again.

"What are you looking for, exactly?" Harry asked, leaning forward over the table to try and see.

Hermione shrugged. "Anything useful. Professor Snape doesn't have time to go through these."

"Probably too busy spying for You Know Who," Ron muttered darkly.

His girlfriend gave him an 'Oh really?' look. Being Head Girl, she was privy to more information than the average student, and no doubt knew something connected to Snape that they didn't. This tendency for Head Boys and Girls holding staff secrets was another reason why no one could understand why Seamus Finnigan had been appointed Head Boy. He couldn't keep a secret to save his life.

At that moment, Malfoy decided to make his entrance with Crabbe and Goyle. He swung the doors open so they banged loudly, causing everyone in the hall to look his way as he strode in and over to the Slytherin table. Harry had the sudden vision of Malfoy chained underwater, staring at him with wide, unblinking white eyes. He shuddered.

Everyone went back to their lunch. Malfoy loved attention, everyone knew that. The thing was, he knew how to get it. Harry got attention too, but he couldn't work out how to get rid of it.

When Harry and the others left their table, Malfoy was still eating. He cast Harry a dark glare and the black-haired boy ignored it, and they left the hall to make their way to the classroom for their afternoon lesson.

Most of the Gryffindors were lined up outside by the time they got there. When the beginning of the lesson was signalled, the familiar form of Professor Lupin appeared, a rather large and old looking book in his hands. Most of the Gryffindors blanched at the sight of it, except for Hermione.

On the whole, Lupin did not look much different than before. A little greyer, his robes a little newer, but other than that it was like they were back in the third year. Let in to the classroom, they filed into their seats. Harry, Ron and Hermione found some places near the front, getting out quills and such. Harry himself didn't like the look of the book, and was wondering if looking forward to this lesson was such a good idea.

"Welcome back to Defence Against the Dark Arts," Professor Lupin said as the class settled down, and smiled wearily.

"You have no idea how glad we are that Snape didn't get the job!" said Seamus from the back, and everyone laughed. Lupin's smile brightened a bit. Then he moved into his seat and folded his hands under his chin, elbows on the table. He stared hard around the classroom for a full two minutes, making most of the class nervous and expecting something like a sudden attack.

"Well," he said finally, gaze lowering to the cover of the volume on his desk in front of him. "Before we get started, I suppose, I should let you know a bit about the revised course we will be taking this year."

Harry glanced at Ron, knowing exactly what 'revised' meant in this case; 'Changed at the last minute to counter whatever Voldemort could throw at everyone'.

"As Professor Dumbledore told you all yesterday, this year will be a test for everyone, doubly so for some of you in this room." Everyone looked guiltily over at Harry, and Lupin raised a thin eyebrow, noticing it instantly. "It's no good looking at Harry, you know," he said, making most of the class snap their eyes up to him in surprise. "I'm sure a lot of you will be expected to fight this year. You are, after all, in your seventh and final year of Hogwarts. You will leave the school after this year, as fully-fledged witches and wizards. Harry's had plenty of encounters with Voldemort with much less knowledge or experience, and he was younger. I will not have any of you acting as if any lesson I teach you, you will not require, because you will, and in a real fight I will not be able to come round and help you out one by one. Is that clear?"

There was a cowed "Yes, Professor," from the class.

"Right, now we've got that straight, on to the course," Lupin said, a little more sprightly. "Since we were on the topic of Voldemort, I'm sure most of you will be guessing that we've modified the lessons to reflect the current situation of the war. What's the point of teaching you about something that you will not come across, when we _can_ prepare you against things you will most likely face in the near future? Well, there isn't one, so you'll be taught useful things this year." He stood up and walked round to the head of the desk, picking up the old book as he went. He held it up, and the class squinted to see what it said:

__

Darkest Curses.

"This book," Lupin said, "documents the uses of the most dangerous curses known to the wizarding world. It also lists possible defences against them. It has extensive coverage of the Unforgivable Curses. I understand that in the fourth year, you were all actually subjected to one of them?"

Neville went bright red, remembering his display of gymnastics.

"The Imperius Curse," Hermione said quietly, remembering the lesson all too well.

Lupin nodded gravely. "If any of you ever come across a Dark Wizard, it will be a battle of curses, in all likeliness, and of defences against them. Therefore most of this course is going to be dedicated to the defence against these spells, and of the art of using them." He paused significantly, giving them all another long look.

"We're…we're going to be taught how to _use_ these?" came a very frightened voice from Parvati. Her eyes were wide in fear. The class dissolved into hushed, fearful whisperings. Lupin waited for a minute, and then coughed to get everyone's attention. The Gryffindors were immediately silent.

"I cannot express to you how grave these times are," the thin-faced Professor continued, putting the book down and folding his arms across his chest. "We are at _war. _We are at war with a creature of unimaginable strength, and no one knows the extent of his powers. I remember _everything_ that happened when Voldemort was at large last time. I was frightened, as were we all. We had never seen the like of him before, and the things he and his followers did were horrific. Now he's returned, even stronger than before. We will need _every_ wizard or witch we can get to help in these battles. And _all_ of you will need to be equipped to deal with these fights! We cannot baby _any_ of you any longer! You must understand that in the eyes of the staff, of the Ministry of Magic, and in the eyes of myself, you are adults, and adults will be expected to be involved. If you cannot get used to the idea of using curses like these, than I advise you to stop coming to my lessons, because I cannot afford to waste my energy teaching you something you will not use."

The class was stunned into silence. Harry stared down at his quill, lying on the desk.

"Now…" Lupin's voice had softened considerably, his gaze had followed suit. "You will need your quills only to take notes on what I say. I know you have had a particularly memorable lesson about the Unforgivable Curses already, but, again, I cannot express the importance of knowing everything you can about them, and knowing it off by heart. These three curses were used _extensively_ by Death Eaters, and by Voldemort himself. They are likely to be again." Again, frightened silence from the class. Lupin smiled a little. He could snap his fingers and make most of the class fall over in surprise right now. "So we will spend plenty of time looking at them."

Neville whimpered in fear, sinking down in his seat. Seamus, sitting next to him, patted his shoulder comfortingly, though his own arm was trembling.

Lupin pushed himself off the desk and started walking round the class. Everyone turned to watch his movements as he spoke. "As you know, the use of any one of the Unforgivable Curses can earn you a life sentence in Azkaban. Death Eaters are trained in the uses of them, and all are almost expert casters. If you face a Death Eater, they will almost certainly know how to use two, if not _three_, of the curses." He had reached the back, and started walking behind the desks. "Only one person has ever been subjected to all three curses and survived." He stopped, and looked at Harry, and everyone did the same. Harry refused to look up, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe.

"All _three_?" Ron whispered in horror. "When…when did you get the Cruciatus curse put on you?"

"In the fourth year," Harry murmured back, still not looking back. "Voldemort did it to me."

"And therefore," Professor Lupin said, "only one person can have any credible evidence of what they each feel like. You all know about the Imperius Curse, and I believe you were shown the effect of the Cruciatus Curse on spiders, was it?" At a nod from Dean, he continued, walking down the other side of the classroom. "I don't believe Harry can remember what it felt like to have Avada Kedavra cursed on you." He looked questioningly at the boy in question.

"I don't remember anything but green," Harry said, finally looking up to follow Lupin's movements. Half the class were still staring at Harry in shock, having not known exactly what happened with Harry and Voldemort in the fourth year, and definitely not expecting that Harry was cursed like that.

"I didn't think so." Lupin brushed locks of brown hair behind his ears, and started walking slowly between the desks, meandering towards the front of the classroom. "I won't ask you to relate the Cruciatus Curse to us, Harry, don't worry. _But_," and he was speaking to them all again, "that means that it _is_ possible to survive all three of them, though I wouldn't test Harry's luck by casting the Killing Curse on him again."

"It would kill me." Harry shrugged at the tense silence, all attention on him again.

Lupin nodded slowly, eyes on Harry all the time. "Then let's just hope that none of you ever come across a wizard who can cast the Killing Curse on you. And if you do…" His voice trailed off for a moment. "If you do…then pray."

The rest of the lesson went more normally. Lupin described each of the curses in gory detail, making them all take healthy notes. He had started going through some defences against the Imperius Curse when the bell rang. Everyone filed out in numb silence, and went back to the common room.

It would be an odd year, if every lesson had the same seriousness to it that that one had.

----------------------------

Dinner was another noisy affair, but the Gryffindor seventh years were a little subdued, thinking over the words of Professor Lupin, and the sudden reality of the war outside. Hermione was thinking about the attack last school year, while Ron was still a little wary about using the curses Professor Lupin had described. Harry had his mind on Voldemort. It was hard not to think about it when you were reminded about him almost every single waking hour of your day.

Ron was waving his fork around, mouth full again, and complaining about Professor Lupin's new 'no-holds-barred' attitude. "I preferred Professor Lupin when he made us fight Bogarts," he said, though, with the food in his mouth, it sounded more like "Ah mefer fessor Mupin men 'e may fus figh' Mogarts."

Hermione had disapproval written over her features. Harry laughed behind his hand. Hermione loved to mother Ron, whether she realised she was doing it or not. It was so amusing to watch.

Ron grinned sheepishly, put his fork down and quickly swallowed his food, then said, "Jolly good stuff, this."

"I bet it is," Hermione replied, giving him a sideways look before turning to her scarred friend. "I think it's good that Professor Lupin isn't holding anything back."

"Yeah, but I reckon he's scared most of the others off fighting altogether," Ron replied, leaning on the table and, once again, waving his fork about to emphasise his point.

Hermione sighed, and decided to give up. She pushed her plate away a little, as if to say that she would eat no more. "At least we're not being coddled," she said. "I'd rather know the facts."

"So would I…but I feel sorry for Neville." Harry lowered his voice so the boy in question wouldn't hear. "If I were him, I'd be more afraid of the Unforgivable Curses than I already am."

Ron fidgeted, feeling horrible about their fellow Gryffindor. "He's almost had it worse than you," he said to Harry. Then his expression changed, and he suddenly looked hurt. "And you never told me you had Cruciatus cast on you."

Hermione started making attempted subtle motions to Ron along the lines of "shut up you stupid git." As usual, Ron didn't see, or he chose not to. "In fact, you never told me much about what happened in the fourth year. No one in the school knows much at all!"

"We were told _not to ask_," Hermione hissed between clenched teeth. She sent Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry, I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but Ron-"

Harry shook his head at Hermione, and smiled. "It's alright, Herm'. I've had two years to get over the shock, you know? It doesn't hurt to think about it…"

"…much," Hermione finished for him. "Look, Harry, it's a private matter, I know that-"

"You both want to know what happened, so I'll tell you," Harry said firmly. "Just…not here. Don't want everyone knowing. I'll tell you when we get back to the common room, okay?"

Ron looked like he wanted to bounce in his seat. Hermione smiled at Harry, and he smiled back. It would be hard - the memory of Voldemort's voice saying, "Kill the spare," would haunt him forever, until the day he died - to recall the entire thing, but they needed to know.

__

//"Beware. A truth, disguised as a lie, disguised as a truth."//

Harry shuddered, eyes involuntarily squeezing shut with the motion. When he opened them again, a shadow had fallen over him. He looked up, beyond Hermione, to find the person who was causing the obstruction. He stared for a moment, wondering if the other boy's presence had somehow triggered his remembering of the cryptic message in his dream.

"So, you got the werewolf back. How clever of you."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron muttered darkly, fists clenching where they rested on the table.

"I don't feel like it," Malfoy said, grinning maliciously. Harry stiffened himself against it, preparing for the rush he had felt yesterday, but it didn't come. He held himself tense, however, untrusting. Malfoy turned from his redhead enemy, to his dark-haired one. "How did you do it, Potter? Beg at Dumbledore's feet? Knowing you, you only had to _attempt_ a puppy dog face and the old fool relented."

"Don't talk about Professor Dumbledore like that," Harry said tightly, fighting to keep a hold of his temper. _//Remember the other Draco, the one you saw last night, remember that one…he's in there somewhere…//_

"Favouritism is worth comment." Malfoy crossed his arms, staring down at the three of them in horrid delight. "And no one else will say, so why not me? You know how it is, Potter. Can't keep myself to myself." The smile appeared again, the genuine one, a slow showing of white teeth against pale skin. Harry steeled himself again, but he couldn't deny that he felt it: all along his spine and across his chest.

"Yeah, you're a nosy bugger," Ron interjected with feeling. "Now _sod off_."

"And if I don't?" Malfoy turned his darkest expression on Ron, temporarily forgetting Harry. His voice was slow, dripping poison. Harry had the distinct feeling that if they ever pushed Malfoy too far, no one would get off easy.

Students were beginning to empty out of the hall, so Draco Malfoy, standing at the Gryffindor table in all his robed glory, the candles setting his hair alight in a blaze of colour, did not look out of place in the steady throng of moving people. Harry kept his gaze steadily on the other boy, still feeling the slight tingling in his spine. Was it anything to do with his dream? Or…something else?

"If you don't move right now, then I will personally introduce your face with the floor," Ron threatened, getting to his feet, and his full height, where he stood a head above the shorter Malfoy.

"Yeah? You and who's army?" Malfoy shot back nastily, face twisting into a sneer of disbelief and disgust.

"I don't need people to hide behind," Ron snapped, his anger seeming to make him taller so he towered over the Slytherin. "You don't have the courage to take me on without Crabbe and Goyle." He nodded to the two, who were watching warily from the Slytherin table.

"I'm not the one who thinks that as long as Potter's around, I'll be okay," Malfoy countered, grey eyes narrowed but bright with fury, temper rising. "At least I've got some _talent_ to go on."

"You wouldn't know talent if it hit you round the face with a wet fish!" Ron chortled, snickering. Malfoy's ears went pink, and suddenly his wand was in his hand. Ron's followed just as fast, when he saw that his enemy was arming himself. It was as if a sudden explosion had gone off: Harry and Hermione were instantly on their feet, armed, and so was half the Gryffindor table, ready to defend their housemate.

"I have more talent than your entire family put together, Weasley," Malfoy snarled, looking very much like the cornered animal. He suddenly seemed very small, but people seemed to know that if they moved too close, he would lash out at them.

"Then prove it." Ron was in an immediate duelling stance, and Malfoy dropped into one automatically, prepared to cast something at Ron over the Gryffindor table.

Malfoy grinned, as he knew he'd already won the fight. He raised his wand to strike, but suddenly a voice overpowered his own as he was about to yell out a spell. "EXPELLIARMUS!" There was a small bang, and Malfoy's wand suddenly flew out of his hand. Malfoy yelled indignantly, and spun round to turn on whoever had taken his wand. He came face to face with Professor McGonagall. Harry was sure he heard Malfoy growl.

"I will not tolerate this!" McGonagall exclaimed, expression severe. "Fighting on the first day of school, _really_. An unprovoked attack on my students will not go unpunished, Mr Malfoy." She held up his wand. "You will report to my office in two hours, Malfoy, where we will discuss your punishment. Twenty points from Slytherin." Then she gave Ron an exasperated look. "And you should know better. Five points from Gryffindor."

Ron scowled, but Malfoy was fuming where he stood.

To Harry's surprise, McGonagall then turned to him. He blinked. "And Harry," she said. "Dumbledore wishes to speak with you about certain matters later on this evening. If you would wait outside his office at nine o'clock, please."

"Yes, Professor." Harry frowned. "What does Professor Dumbledore want to talk to me about?"

She smiled grimly. "That I cannot say. It is imperative that you go, though."

"Oh…"

Malfoy stalked off towards the dungeons with McGonagall in tow, and then Hermione whirled on Ron, eyes blazing. "You idiot!" she exclaimed. "What did you think you were _doing_? Trying to get yourself _expelled_?!"

"Er…" Ron shrugged. "…Yeah?"

Hermione looked like she'd keel over any second. "You _what_?"

"Hey, hey, calm down! I was joking!"

"I should bloody well _hope_ you were joking!"

"_Hermione!!! Language!_"

-----------------------------------

End Chap3.

I don't like this as much as the others…thanks for reviewing, everyone! ^_^

I was just on this site where I was reading about that mistake JKR did in the fourth book about the order of the spells at the end, with Lily and James appearing in the wrong order, and it made a very good point that I didn't think about before**. The Avada Kedavra spell for Harry did not show up.** The person on this site said that either the book doesn't read the way JKR wants it to, or put forward the theory that Voldemort cast the spell to kill Harry _first_, before Lily and James were cursed. But, of course, Voldemort would have been too weak after Harry, because the curse back-fired, which raises the question, Who _did_ kill Lily and James, even if they were using Voldemort's wand?

I thought this was an interesting theory myself, but this is just me ^____^;;; Maybe everyone else knows it, but I just found it today.

Right, author comments over, except for "Please review! Pretty please! This story really is going somewhere, you know! And I'll get there eventually! PLEEEAAASSSEE!"


	4. Chapter 4

Broken Bridges  
  
A Harry Potter Fanfiction  
  
DISCLAIMER: Dinna own JKR's wonderfully fanfic-suited characters, she does. She also owns millions of pounds! Unfortunately, I can't take that either, or her nice big house in London (oh to live in London ::dreamy:: and it's only two hours away.::singsong:: Oh London, over the Medway and far away.) or whatever else she's managed to acquire ( I'm just borrowing her characters for a little bit.don't look at me like that, it's better than "borrowing" her millions of pounds or her nice big house in London, isn't it? ^____^;;  
  
A/N: Lord of the Rings is out, woo-hoo! ::dances round:: Orlando Bloom, yummy.  
  
WARNING: ::Richard Attenborough voice:: The great and almighty elusive PLOT begins to emerge. Don't make any loud noises because you will startle it and it will go hide under its rock again, which is bad. So behave ( because I wish to study it more.and maybe utilise it for my own evil purposes.  
  
  
  
Chapter Four.  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy trudged bad-tempered towards McGonagall's office, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. His lips were set in an angry scowl, and those remaining students wandering Hogwarts' many twisting passageways were quick to step out of his way. Word of Malfoy's attempted attack on Ron Weasley had spread like wildfire. And with a reputation like Malfoy's, you stepped out of his way anyway, unless you were one of his friends. Draco Malfoy was beautiful but deadly and everyone knew it.  
  
Malfoy considered attempting to bat his eyelashes at McGonagall in a pathetic attempt to get out of too much trouble, but quickly decided it would do no good. He found it darkly funny that a thought such as that had somehow wormed itself into his head.  
  
//Maybe those people on the train brought my ring here. Would McGonagall have it?//  
  
The loss of his ring - which had actually been a present from his mother - had not really upset him as much as he had led people to believe. Though he was angered over the way in which it was taken, he was secretly glad to have it gone. What he had said to Granger was a lie. Yes, he knew there were spells in it. But he knew exactly what they were.  
  
Dark Arts spells, yes, but Dart Arts spells only because of who they were linked to. Simple communication-following spells, but linked to He Who Must Not Be Named through his father. Progress checking. Voldemort's way of checking up on him. He'd been trying to think of a way to get rid of it.  
  
Part of him wanted to leave it wherever it was, but another part warned him that Voldemort would sense something was wrong and punish him, or not believe his excuse if it came down to it. He imagined that the Ministry of Magic would work out the spells and somehow trace them back to Voldemort and his family.he'd be permanently disgraced. His father would kill him. He didn't even want to know what Voldemort would do to him.  
  
He didn't usually go into McGonagall's office, and he had seriously thought of just not turning up, but he realised that that would not help him much this year. He'd take it like a man, his pride demanded no less. That didn't make him a very happy person, but there wasn't much he could do about it.  
  
Draco wondered what kind of punishment he could be given. McGonagall was infamous for her strict dealing with her own house, so there was no telling what she'd do to a student of her rival house. Snape had not said a word to him about it, but it was easy to see that he had disapproved of the behaviour. He may hate the Gryffindors, but that didn't warrant an attack. Draco knew that as well as anyone.  
  
He reached McGonagall's office and knocked on the door. A voice from inside told him to enter, so he did so. The Professor was sitting at her desk by the window, the wide brim of her hat throwing much of her face into shadow. She was writing on some parchment, her quill scratching against the paper.  
  
"Sit down, Mr Malfoy," she said, and her tone of voice told him that she was still angry with him. He quietly sat down and patiently waited for her to speak. Malfoy only brought out his good manners on special occasions, and he thought that this might count as one.  
  
After a while, the quill scratching being the only thing that broke the silence, McGonagall finally looked up at him. Her mouth was set in a thin line, eyes cold. "And, Mr Malfoy, what justified you pulling out a wand on a fellow Hogwarts student in the main hall, I ask?"  
  
Malfoy stayed silent, watching her levelly. He had no excuse, he knew that, besides his temper. "Weasley challenged me," he muttered finally, when he realised he was expected to say something.  
  
"After some rude provoking, I'll bet," the Professor replied sharply, giving him a look she might have given something a whole lot lower than she was. Draco inwardly scowled at her, keeping his face perfectly blank. He knew he had no case against Weasley that she'd believe. Favouritism indeed.  
  
"I didn't do anything," he lied sullenly.  
  
McGonagall just looked at him, eyebrows raised in obvious disbelief. She sighed lightly and pulled out a sheaf of papers from under the parchment she was writing on. "You came here to discuss your punishment with me, Mr Malfoy, so that is what we shall do. Luckily for you, and for me, I have something lined up for you. I was going to make you do it anyway, but now I have a proper excuse for doing it."  
  
Draco stared at her indignantly. "What? You were going to punish me for nothing?"  
  
"This is not a punishment." McGonagall put the papers in front of him, watching him closely. She folded her hands on the desk, the sleeves of the robe almost swamping her thin arms. "But you will see it as such."  
  
Draco suspiciously took the papers and skimmed the front page. His gaze immediately went to the top of the page, locked on the words there. He stared at it for a long time, not quite wanting to understand what McGonagall was proposing.  
  
"You must be joking," he said. "You can't make a student do that."  
  
He looked up and a tight-lipped smile had appeared on McGonagall's face. It was the first semblance of a smile that Draco had ever seen on her face. She was trying not to laugh at him, he knew it. His insides boiled with fury.  
  
"Oh yes, Mr Malfoy," she said quietly. "I can make you do that."  
  
-----------------------------  
  
About half an hour later, while Draco Malfoy was still in Professor McGonagall's office, working out the details of his task after failing to worm out of doing it, Harry Potter sat in a chair in Dumbledore's office, nervously twitching his fingers in his lap.  
  
He was watching the Headmaster, who was sifting through a whole folder of papers filled with spidery handwriting. Harry had been told to come in and wait for a minute or two. He'd been here ten minutes now, and it looked like Dumbledore was no nearer to finding what he was looking for.  
  
Fawkes was preening on his perch, magnificent as always. Harry remembered how the phoenix had looked when he'd first seen the bird: bedraggled and old. It was hard to imagine that ghostly image when confronted with the phoenix now.  
  
"Aha!"  
  
Harry looked up, startled. Dumbledore, smiling to himself, was holding a small folder of papers he had found somewhere. He walked to his desk and sat down, placing the folder on the table. He grinned at Harry. "I'm sorry for calling you out like this, but today the staff received word of some concentrated incidences from the Ministry of Magic. We've looked through the information they've given us, and at what they want from us, and the staff and myself have decided on a course of action we should take."  
  
"Excuse me, sir, but.what are you talking about?"  
  
Dumbledore's eyes wrinkled at the edges as he smiled again. "An intelligent question, Harry. What am I talking about? I'm talking about Voldemort, my boy. The Ministry of Magic have asked me for help. There have been a lot of incidences related to Voldemort and his followers in the South of England, mainly in Kent, Sussex and Surrey."  
  
Harry stared at Dumbledore in shock. Surrey.that's where the Dursleys lived. And about as far away from Hogwarts as they could get if they stayed on the mainland. Were they hoping that the wizards and witches would be deployed down to the Southeast, splitting up the side of Good and therefore helping Evil out?  
  
"But what does this have to do with me, Professor? Unless you're just keeping me informed."  
  
"No, there is a point to this." Dumbledore pushed the folder of papers to Harry. "This is what the Ministry sent us. It details all the incidences and what they think could be done about it. What they want us to do is pick some spies to go down to Kent, where they think Voldemort is, and just snoop around for a bit to see what they can find."  
  
There was a knot of dread slowly forming in Harry's stomach. He left the folder untouched on the desk. "You.you want me to be a spy for you?"  
  
Dumbledore nodded slowly, just as Harry was beginning to hope that he had misread the situation. The cold dread fused to his insides. "But," Dumbledore said, "only if you are willing to do it."  
  
Harry wanted to back out of it immediately. His first instinct was to say "Sorry, no can do" and be done with it. Unfortunately, a little niggling voice in the back of his head was now beginning to call him a coward, and Harry Potter was anything but a coward. He sighed and stared dejectedly down at his lap.  
  
"I suppose so."  
  
Dumbledore beamed in delight. "Well done, Harry. Wonderful. Very brave of you. Of course, you won't be leaving until just after Christmas. The Ministry have to scout out somewhere safe for you to stay, and try and find out a little more detail before we send you out there. I know it's odd, asking for students to go, but none of the staff can be spared, and some of the seventh years, yourself included, have equal wizarding talent to some of the staff, if not more! And you're all adults now."  
  
"I know. We've had this talk from Professor Lupin."  
  
"Professor Lupin? Yes, yes, he's a man who knows what he's talking about. Fine man." Dumbledore nodded to himself, then towards the folder before Harry. "Take it. It details everything we know so far. You'll need to read up on it before you go. But don't go showing everyone, Harry. It's supposed to be secret."  
  
Harry nodded, eyes still lowered. He didn't like this one bit. "Okay, Professor." A thought suddenly struck him. He looked up at Dumbledore. "I'm not going alone, am I?"  
  
He was surprised to find a smile spread itself across the Headmaster's face. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "No, of course not."  
  
Harry's stomach plummeted.  
  
-----------------------------  
  
The Slytherin seventh years were sitting around the fire, talking amongst themselves when the dungeon door opened with a slight hissing sound of stone scraping against stone. Several pairs of eyes looked over to find a fuming figure stalking into the Slytherin common room, grey eyes almost glowing in anger. He looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall, or tear one of the lanterns from their holdings.  
  
Malfoy got annoyed quite regularly, but he almost never got furious, like he seemed to be now. His lips were pulled back over even white teeth in a snarl of rage, skin deathly pale against his black robes. As the door slid closed behind him, he stormed across the room towards them. Pansy shifted uncomfortably in her chair, not wanting to do anything to make her former crush even more upset than he already was.  
  
"ARGH!" The seventh years, the only ones still awake, all jumped at the sudden yell of frustration, and scattered out of the way as Draco suddenly gripped the edge of a table and flipped it over with an almighty crashing noise, shoulders heaving. One of the wooden legs snapped off in his hand, and he stared at it numbly before letting out another cry and hurling it across the room at the wall. It hit one of the lanterns, the glass shattering, and the green light flickered out, leaving one patch of wall in darkness.  
  
"I don't believe her!" Malfoy yelled, slumping down in one of the larger chairs. "Where does she get off ordering me around like that?"  
  
Draco had just been to Professor McGonagall's office to discuss his punishment after he had pulled out his wand on Ron Weasley. From Draco's words so far, it hadn't gone well.  
  
"Are you okay?" Pansy asked cautiously, reaching out with one hand, but stopping when she realised what she was doing. "What happened?"  
  
Draco slammed his fist down onto the arm of his chair. "She's sending me out of bloody Hogwarts, that's what she's doing!"  
  
The seventh years exchanged panicked looks between them. "You're being expelled?"  
  
Malfoy snorted, shaking his head firmly and curling his fingers around the arms on the chair, staring at a spot on the wall opposite him. "Don't be daft," he said. "They wouldn't expel a student at a time like this. No, she's decided I'm going off spying after Christmas!" He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.  
  
"Spying?" Pansy seemed to be the only one willing to speak in the wake of Draco's anger. Several of the others were still eyeing the table and broken lamp with uncertainty. "Against You Know Who?"  
  
"Who do you think?" Draco muttered darkly, frowning. "But it gets better, Pansy. Oh so much better."  
  
She scowled, not understanding. Pansy hated it when she was kept in the dark about things.  
  
"Guess where I'm going."  
  
"Er."  
  
Draco chuckled. "They're sending me down south, Pansy. Right down to Kent." [1]  
  
"Kent? But that's the other end of the country!" Pansy shrieked in horror. "Do you know how long you'll be gone?"  
  
"No.McGonagall said it wasn't rigidly timed unless events spurred it that way." Draco shrugged and sighed, rubbing his temple. "There is an upside to it though. I'm being excused from my exams this year. I automatically get my predicted grades until otherwise notified."  
  
"Oh." Pansy fidgeted. "Are you being sent by yourself?"  
  
"No." Draco smirked. "Not by any means."  
  
"Who are you going with?"  
  
"Potter."  
  
---------------------------  
  
"Cheer up, Harry."  
  
The green-eyed teenager's eyes blearily wandered over to Ron's face. This new mission was playing heavily on his mind. So heavily, in fact, that he'd forgotten his glasses that morning when he left the common room, only realising it wasn't his glasses that needed changing when Hermione asked him what he thought he was doing without them.  
  
He couldn't be bothered to make his way back up to the common room before breakfast. Hermione offered and had darted off without him saying a word. Ron and Harry were sitting at the table eating breakfast.  
  
"You've been awfully miserable this morning," Ron continued, giving Harry a stern look, though his friend wouldn't be able to form an expression from the blurry mess that was Ron's face. Well, it was a blurry mess to him anyway.  
  
"Just thinking," Harry replied, spearing his fork downwards and hoping he'd hit a piece of bacon. There was no screech of metal against his plate, so he assumed he'd got something. He lifted his fork to his mouth and was pleased to find that yes, he had managed to get some bacon.  
  
"You've been thinking a lot recently."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Care to tell me what it's about? I feel left out, you know."  
  
Harry chuckled. "Left out? You've got Hermione. I haven't got anyone. I'm the one who feels left out sometimes."  
  
The guilt came off Ron in waves. Harry didn't have to be able to see to be able to feel it. "Yeah, I'm sorry," Ron said softly. "We don't mean to."  
  
"I know. I'm not really bothered. You are going out, after all. I expected it!"  
  
"Well, why don't you find a girlfriend? I know there's plenty who'd love to go out with you-" Ron immediately launched into a list of names, cheerful once again. Harry listened bemusedly until Ron started getting into the names of Slytherin girls.  
  
"Whoa whoa whoa! Hang on!" Harry laughed as Ron spluttered to a halt. "You're forgetting one tiny detail, Ron."  
  
"What detail?" Ron asked, puzzled.  
  
"That thing I told you about last year."  
  
"What thing?"  
  
"The thing that made you hate me for four months until you realised I wasn't about to ravage you every time we were alone."  
  
Ron blinked at Harry's bluntness, suddenly realising what he was talking about. His ears flushed pink. "Oooooooh.that." He grinned sheepishly. "I forgot."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes, hands resting in his lap. "Honestly, Ron."  
  
Ron shrugged at him, stuffing half an egg in his mouth. "So?" he said around the egg. "Why can't you at least try going out with a girl? How do you know you like." He lowered his voice awkwardly. "How do you know you like boys? You've never been out with one."  
  
"You don't have to go out with one to know you like them!" Harry snickered. "Stop trying to straighten me out, it gets annoying. And remember, I did go out with a girl. It didn't work."  
  
"Maybe you just weren't meant to be with Cho. Doesn't mean you have to decide you don't like girls anymore." Ron said this quite matter-of-factly.  
  
"I broke up with Cho because I didn't like girls anymore."  
  
"Cor, make your mind up, Harry. Why don't you just be bi? Then you can switch all you like and no-one can blame you for being picky."  
  
Harry, halfway through his glass of milk, spluttered it everywhere in fits of laughter. Ron just stared at him, then dissolved into laughter as well. Hermione appeared, frowning when she saw them. She hand the glasses to Harry. "Here you go." She sat beside Ron, who was still trying to stifle his laughter. "What're you two laughing about?"  
  
"Long story," Harry managed to say. He managed to calm down with some deep breaths, then grinned. "Thanks, Ron, I feel better now."  
  
Ron grinned wickedly. "Maybe we should set you up with Malfoy."  
  
"Excuse me?!"  
  
Ron laughed out loud again at Harry's indignant reaction. "Heh heh. Come on, Harry, he must be bi at least. He's never actually been out with anyone, not even Pansy."  
  
"Yeah, but he's probably slept with half the Slytherins, though," Hermione pointed out darkly, glaring over Harry's shoulder at where the blond boy sat. Draco was glowering fixedly in their direction. More accurately, straight at Harry's back. "And he's now glaring at your shoulder blades, Harry. Don't know why, though, they're not particularly offensive."  
  
Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "That was quite.Monty Python-y humour there, Hermione, for lack of a better description."  
  
"Monty what?" This came from Ron.  
  
"Monty Python," Hermione repeated for Ron's benefit. "And thank you, Harry. I'll take it as a compliment."  
  
"It was meant as one." Harry smiled. "Draco's glaring at my back, is he?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Harry snorted. "I can guess why. You know what I told you last night, about what Dumbledore said to me."  
  
The other two nodded. Hermione frowned in worry - she was not in favour of Harry going. In fact, neither was Ron.  
  
"Well, Draco's going to be coming with me."  
  
Hermione just blinked at Harry, and Ron almost fell off his chair, he was laughing so hard. Harry waited for him to calm down again. Ron wiped the tears from his eyes. "Oh boy, Harry and Draco together.alone."  
  
"Stop it, Ron."  
  
"Well, two teenage boys, not getting some either way, hormones raging.it can only be a matter of time before someone snaps."  
  
"I bet it'd be Draco," Hermione piped in. "He seems like the passionate, sex-mad type. He won't be able to control himself."  
  
Harry's expression was pained. "Ew.I now have the worst mental image in the history of horrible mental images, thank you very much."  
  
Ron and Hermione were not deterred. They started speaking in mock excitement together. "Oh no," Ron was saying, "we tried to keep them apart, but love will prevail! They won't be able to stay away from each other!"  
  
"And who are we to stand in the way of that!" Hermione continued with obvious insincerity. Harry raised an eyebrow in disgust. Hermione only ever acted silly when she was with Ron. He wanted her to go back to being sensible old Hermione. He wasn't liking the uncomfortable turn this conversation had taken.  
  
"I know!" Ron started fake crying. "You have our blessings, Harry! Be free, be happy with yourself and who you are, and don't you dare let him get off easy in Quidditch matches just because you're sleeping with him!"  
  
Hermione pulled back and scowled. "Ron, there are no Quidditch matches this year."  
  
Ron stared. "Oh. Damnit."  
  
"You've spoiled it now!"  
  
"I'm sorry!"  
  
Harry coughed politely. "I hope you weren't being serious. That was about the scariest conversation I can remember having with you in a loooooong history of scary conversations."  
  
Ron snickered at him, running a hand through his gingery-red hair. "Nah, I was kidding. Promise me, though, Harry, that you won't start fancying Malfoy? Please? I really don't think I could cope with seeing you and him together."  
  
Harry smiled. Hermione frowned, thinking she saw strain at the edges.  
  
"I don't think there's a chance in Hell that we'd end up together," Harry said. "I promise I won't start fancying Malfoy."  
  
//I can keep this promise.//  
  
Ron grinned in relief. "Thank God for that."  
  
//Because.I think I already do fancy him.//  
  
Harry's smile widened. Even Hermione couldn't tell that it was forced.  
  
//I won't have just started fancying him.so I'm not breaking the promise.//  
  
"Good ol' Harry!" Ron cried, shoving a bit of bacon in his mouth as he grinned wider.  
  
//So that counts, right? I'm not breaking the promise.//  
  
"Yeah." Harry's smile faded a little bit. "Good old Harry."  
  
//.Am I?//  
  
--------------------------  
  
Lessons went normally once again. They had another Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin, where they continued looking at the Unforgivable Curses. It was an unpleasant, if necessary, lesson. Harry had resolved to concentrate in all his lessons fully now, since he would be out in the wide world after Christmas and would be using spells for real. Suddenly he really wished he had backed out on Dumbledore's offer.  
  
//But then.I wouldn't be going with Draco, would I?//  
  
He was quite disturbed with the little thought that he might actually like Draco Malfoy. It had come to him last night while he was in bed, looking through the folder. There were profiles of the students being considered for the two spy posts, and Draco's had been there, a picture attached to the top. It was a Muggle photo, though. None of the students had been moving in their pictures. Draco was staring out of the paper, grey eyes bright, blond hair wispy and light and oh-so-touchable. His high cheekbones were unusually pronounced in the pictures due to the shadows cast, giving him a slightly hollow, gaunt look, but it couldn't hide his almost effeminate beauty.  
  
So he thought Draco was beautiful. Big deal. Harry pushed it to the back of his mind. If he didn't think about it, it'd go away. He knew that the more he'd pore over it, the more he'd become convinced that he did like Draco. Which wasn't what he wanted at all.  
  
It got round to lunch. Harry, Ron and Hermione talked without mention of breakfast's strange topic of interest. They trudged to potions and sat down in their now usual seats. Harry was determined to pay attention and not get in trouble. Also, concentrating on Snape (horrible as that might have been) would keep his eyes from wandering over to the other side of the classroom where a certain blond was sitting-  
  
//No! Stop it!//  
  
Somehow he managed to get in trouble anyway. He didn't know what for, but suddenly Snape had come over, looked at his potion (which he done exactly as Snape had told them to), grunted and said, "5 points from Gryffindor, Potter", before walking away again. He hadn't given a reason, causing uproar from the Gryffindors. They were lucky not to get a detention.  
  
"He just did it because you were doing it perfectly!" Hermione said after lessons as they walked back to the common room. "He's a grumpy old so-and- so."  
  
"And you figured this out when?" Ron asked sarcastically.  
  
Hermione gave him a withering look. "Be quiet, Ron."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," Ron said, making a face.  
  
Hermione gave him another look as they started up the staircase to the common room. "Come on, when we get back we'd better start on that homework."  
  
They hadn't gotten a detention, no, but Snape had given the Gryffindors an extra load of homework to make up for it.  
  
--------------------------  
  
The library wasn't deserted, so to speak, but it wasn't crowded either. The lights were dimmed because there weren't many students about. Maybe most of them didn't have lots of homework to do from a grumpy professor, Draco didn't know, but he didn't think it was fair that he had to be traipsing around the library searching for a book on a root he'd never heard of when no-one else was.  
  
"Who uses 'root of iyasin' anyway?" Draco muttered, squinting at the spines of the hundreds of books. He didn't have a clue where to look for a book on it anyhow. Basically he was stumped.  
  
He bet Granger knew what it was. She always did. She'd probably read all about it before she'd even got to Hogwarts. Hell, she probably knew it's atomic structure off by heart. And it wasn't just because he was proud that he wouldn't go and ask for help. He was a Slytherin.a true one at that. Slytherin needed help from no-one.  
  
Snape had probably told them what it was in the lesson. He just hadn't been concentrating. His mind had been on two things - his spying mission, and Harry.  
  
//Always 'Harry' in my head.never really 'Potter', is it?//  
  
He'd had the teasing from some of the Slytherins. His sexual habits weren't secret from his own house. He'd go after anyone if he really wanted them. Of course, after that first time, either he was the one who realised it wasn't worth it, or they were. Not that he was bad in bed, quite the opposite.but that was it. They'd done it. What else was there to do?  
  
Pansy, he realised, had been very quiet about the whole thing. Maybe she was jealous that Potter was spending that time with Draco and she wasn't.or maybe she was jealous that Draco was going to be with Harry and she wasn't..?  
  
No, that was ridiculous. She hated Harry Potter. She always had. Maybe she knew.maybe she knew Draco better than she let on.maybe she knew about him.  
  
//Knew what about me? That I spent half my summer wondering how Harry was doing? Wondering if he was eating alright? Wondering what position he was sleeping in? Or if he had a bed at all.I know all about the Dursleys.God. I really am a pathetic wretch of a man. Mooning over my arch enemy.//  
  
He found a ragged chair in a corner of the library and sat down, sinking into it's comfortable depths with the slightest sigh of pleasure. Oh how he loved chairs. He rubbed a hand against his forehead, closing his eyes as he got a hold of himself. It wasn't like he'd like Harry Potter for long. His fancies always came and went as fast as lightning. That was half the reason why he'd never actually properly gone out with someone. One night stands were all he was good for.  
  
"If you're tired, Malfoy, why don't you go back to your dorm room."  
  
His head snapped up to find a cloaked figure in the aisle in front of him, looking at the spines of books as he had been doing. He scowled at him. "Sod off."  
  
The head turned to face him and the dull light reflected off of round glasses. "I'm looking for a book for homework."  
  
"The root of iyasin? What, Granger doesn't know what it is? Heaven forbid!"  
  
"Shut up, Malfoy. No, she doesn't know." Harry scowled at Draco. "She and Ron nominated me to come down here and look it up. I was hoping I wouldn't see you down here."  
  
"Why, Potter, I'm hurt," Draco drawled, a slight, playful smile curving his lips as he let his eyes rove down Harry's form. He was in shadow, so the black-haired boy wouldn't be able to see. "They probably nominated you so they could get some 'business' done."  
  
"I know that. That's why I came willingly. I'm not stupid."  
  
"Could've fooled me." Draco let his hands rest on his knees. Harry had gone back to looking at the books. Draco watched him intently. This was a game he often played, and one he loved to play. If he ever got someone he liked cornered, especially if it was a boy, he loved to muck around with their heads. Go hot, cold, hot, cold, until they were practically begging for him. And with boys, it was far more fun, since they'd deny they felt anything until they couldn't hold back any longer. He had several pleasant memories of times when those boys had finally snapped. They were better at those times, he'd soon learned.  
  
Today, he decided, he was going to be hot. Teasing Potter would have advantages.he'd find out if Harry had any interest in the same sex at all, to see whether he could do this with him. Of course, teasing The Boy Who Lived would tease him as well, and leave him aching for more. He could handle that.he'd been in that position before. Draco Malfoy's fancies may have been fast and fleeting, but they were powerful.  
  
Hopefully, today he could claim that he'd managed to turn The Boy Who Lived into The Boy Who Was Extremely Desperate For A Shag. Draco smiled to himself. That definitely had a certain ring, and appeal, to it.  
  
//Go slowly.slowly, Draco.he's not a Slytherin. He's a Gryffindor. Someone you hardly know. You can't plunge in yet. Take it slow or you'll scare him off.//  
  
Draco had never had to go slow with someone.all the others had, at some point before he'd got them into bed, knew he wanted them. He was a physical person, and patience did not go with that. He'd have to hold back a bit at first, he realised. Which was going to be hard, especially as a particularly delicious mental picture of him pressing Harry hard against the bookcase, lips crushed to his and hands wandering to places they shouldn't came to mind.  
  
"Well, have you found the book about the iyasin root yet?"  
  
Draco blinked owlishly in the darkness as he returned from fantasy to reality. "Huh?"  
  
"Wakey wakey, Malfoy. The book?"  
  
"Book? Oh, oh, no. I haven't found it. I was bored to death, you know. Libraries aren't my thing."  
  
"I would never have guessed," Harry muttered sarcastically, pulling out a book and settling down on the floor, legs folded beneath him. He started to flip through the pages, frowning in concentration. "Now are you going to sit there or are you going to help me look for this book?"  
  
"Me?" Draco stared in surprise. "Help you? You are joking, right?"  
  
".I suppose I was."  
  
Draco scowled at the flippant tone. He wasn't going to get anywhere with Harry sitting on the floor like a lemon and him folded up in a chair. He was restless already, and they'd been here all of three seconds.  
  
He let out an annoyed sigh and got to his feet. Harry looked up at him, frowning. Draco grabbed the book, closed it and shoved it back on the shelf. "For God's sake, Potter, we both know we won't find anything of any use. Might as well give up now."  
  
Harry climbed to his feet, keep his eyes on Draco all the time. "Well, don't we work well together," he said, sarcasm heavy again. "We're going to be totally hopeless after Christmas."  
  
//Christmas.the spying mission.spying on Voldemort.oh shit. Me and Harry both together near Voldemort.after what Voldemort told me at my father's mansion.after what he wants me to do.//  
  
Maybe starting this game now wasn't such a good idea.maybe he should leave Harry alone altogether. Otherwise.otherwise he'd be playing them both right into Voldemort's hands.  
  
Draco stood straighter, staring Harry in the eyes. "We'll have to work together after Christmas, Harry. I know that, you know that." He lowered his gaze and went to walk past Harry. Unexpectedly, the green-eyed wizard grabbed Draco by the upper arm. Startled, Draco spun to face the person who'd grabbed him and half-stumbled over his feet. "Whoa!" he stumbled forward, holding out a hand against the books to steady himself.  
  
"You called me."  
  
He lifted his head, feeling sudden warm breath on his forehead. His nose brushed Harry's. He felt Harry jump. Draco shuddered, wondering just how close they were if he could feel Harry. His eyes met those dazzling emerald green ones, just inches away.  
  
//This is so clichéd.//  
  
"You called me Harry."  
  
Draco felt himself begin to melt in pleasure as Harry's warm breath tickled his lips. He forced his eyes to stay open as they threatened to flutter closed. Harry was staring at him, shock and fear openly showing. Draco just stared back, rapidly debating what course of action to take.  
  
//I called him Harry.stupid, stupid Draco! Just give yourself away, you idiot!//  
  
".So I did," Draco whispered in what he hoped was something that vaguely resembled a sensuous murmur. He was usually good at that, and could get anyone going with a few well chosen words, but he was having trouble thinking straight right now.  
  
//Oh.oh.what do I do? I've got him right where I want him.//  
  
He realised he must have sounded somewhat sexy. Harry shivered.  
  
//Sod Voldemort and playing games, I want him bad.//  
  
Draco relaxed his back and found himself leaning into Harry just to catch the last of his tremble. It rushed down his spine and chest and made his thighs and lips tingle. Harry couldn't hold back a gasp at the contact, pleasing Draco no end. The tip of his nose was pressed to Harry's.  
  
"W-What are you doing?" Harry stammered.  
  
"I don't know," Draco murmured truthfully, staring slightly upwards into those wary green eyes. "I really don't know."  
  
//Feels awfully good, though.//  
  
Draco pressed harder into Harry, hard enough to easily feel the contours of the darker boy's body through the robe and cloak. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, his back pushed up against the bookcase.  
  
"M-Malfoy, please, stop-"  
  
//Malfoy. He still called me Malfoy.//  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed. The spell was broken. He stepped back, angry. Dear God, he'd practically been rubbing himself against the boy and Harry still called him Malfoy?  
  
//I don't want to be Malfoy to him.I want to be Draco. I want to hear him say it.//  
  
"Say it," he hissed.  
  
Harry, bewildered and rather steamed up, fumbled to understand. "Huh?"  
  
"Say my name!"  
  
"What? Malfoy?"  
  
Draco's eyes blazed with irritation. "For God's sake, Harry!" he snapped. "Say my bloody name!"  
  
"I don't.God." Harry's eyes searched his for a moment. He was genuinely frightened by the sudden violent mood swing. "D-Draco-"  
  
"Don't stammer it!" Draco snarled. "Breathe it! I'm sick and tired of being 'Malfoy' to everyone!"  
  
Harry blinked at him behind his glasses. "Draco," he repeated, smooth and easy and his voice barely above a whisper. "Draco."  
  
The blond's temper eased slightly as he listened to Harry say it. He stared across at the green-eyed boy for a moment longer. "Thanks," he murmured finally. "That felt good."  
  
"I didn't.I didn't think it mattered to you.what people called you."  
  
"Then you have a lot to learn about me, Harry."  
  
"You keep calling me Harry."  
  
"And?"  
  
"I keep thinking you're not Mal - Draco anymore. It's disconcerting."  
  
"You don't like me calling you Harry?"  
  
Harry didn't answer. His eyes lowered, a telltale sign. Draco inwardly danced for joy.  
  
//So, the great Harry Potter has the same weakness for his name on the lips of his enemies.how intriguing.//  
  
Draco began backing away slowly. "Well, this was an interesting meeting. I have lots to think about. I hope.well, I'm pretty sure that you'll have stuff to consider too. Goodnight." He turned to walk off, but stopped. Before he walked off, he added as an afterthought, "I prefer Harry."  
  
--------------------------  
  
End Chap3.  
  
Well, that end scene was weird O.o;; First it was just a conversation, then it was straying dangerously close to a kiss I hadn't wanted to be there yet, then it was something about names which I'm pretty sure has some kind of meaning to it o.O;;; but oh well.  
  
[1] I'm using Kent because I know a lot of it very well, considering it's, well, where I live. "Write what you know". I want to keep the English settings as close to England as possible, and since the only other place in England I know well at all is London, which is far too big and confusing for me anyway, I'm sticking to Kent, plus it has countryside, which is what I need for a later, major chapter/scene.. A fair bit of story will be taking place in and around the north of Kent. 


	5. Chapter 5

Broken Bridges

A Harry Potter Fanfiction

by Knowing Shadows

A/N: For those of you who have remembered this fic and have been prodding me for an update, I'm very, very sorry. I am a lazy bugger, and have started more fanfiction projects than is safe. But, I promised I would get this done, and I have J Enjoy.

Chapter 5

******

The small village of Ingerton lay in the sweeping hills of western Kent, surrounded by empty fields where wheat, rapeseed and other crops would have been just before the harvest. It was primarily a rural town, where all the families knew each other and the most exciting event of the year was the local summer fete held by the Church (and the proceeding bet between the villagers that Mrs Ranger would win the best raffle prize for another year running).

Ingerton had no nightlife to speak of, so by nine o'clock most of the residents were indoors and the lanes were empty except for the occasional car that passed through, but that was only on the road that ran straight through the centre of the town and out again. When darkness had fallen, Ingerton was lit up only by the few ageing lampposts on the main road and the dimmed lights that filtered through the net curtains on some of the house windows.

Mr Patterson was a middle-aged man who lived on the outskirts of town and had yet to close his curtains at a quarter past nine at night that one Autumn evening. He was quite happily watching TV with his wife and teenage daughter when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something pass the window. A large shadow, black and chill as the winter dawn. Wondering who might be outside at this time of night in _Ingerton_, of all places, and fighting a growing sense of unease, Mr Patterson got up, pulled on his coat and stepped outside, still in his slippers.

"What're you doing, Ben?" called his wife from inside the living room.

"I thought I saw someone outside," Mr Patterson said softly, for when he scanned outside, he could see no one. The main road ran right by his house and any cars that could have passed were not there. It was extraordinarily quiet, even for a calm night such as this. Even the wind had died down. No one was lurking outside, either his house or any of the other houses across the road, either. The hulking outline of the Church lay solid black against the starry sky, somehow intimidating in the dark.

"Come off of it, who'd be out there at this time?" came his daughter's voice, sounding exasperated. Ben Patterson hesitated in the doorway of his house, taking one last look outside to try and ease the dread in his stomach. He had not liked that shadows at all, and he wasn't quite sure why.

"There's nothing out there," said Mrs Patterson vaguely. "Come back inside, you're letting all the heat out."

Maybe there hadn't been anything at all, and it was just his imagination. Mr Patterson's gaze swept across the houses this side of the road, and he blanched. There was something out there; a great, black, shrouded shape heading through the shadows towards the village green and Church. It was too large to be a man, but there was nothing else it could be.

"Hey!" he called out, satisfied it was not just a villager out for a stroll. "Hey, you there!" The shape, no more than four houses away, did not stop or respond to his call. He wasn't even sure if it had heard him. It just shuffled onwards, as silent as Death. He frowned as he lost the indistinguishable shape for a moment in a darker shadow, but then it reappeared again, its back still to Mr Patterson as it headed away from him.

"Ben, what's going on?" asked Mrs Patterson.

"There's something out there," he answered vaguely, all of his attention still centred on the strange figure, now 6 houses away. He stepped away from the door onto the path outside to have a better look. He could make out no more than what he'd already seen.

"What do you mean, 'something'?" An exasperated sigh, then, "It's probably a dog or a cat or something." Ben looked over his shoulder briefly as the voice neared, and his wife appeared in the doorway where he had just been standing.

"My God, what is it?" Her eyes widened as they landed upon the creature, half-frightened.

"I don't know what it is," Ben said quietly, unwilling to raise his voice. "It's not an animal." He nodded to the black figure as it carried on its way. Pursing his lips, he decided that leaving them out there unwatched was not a good idea. "I'm going to find out what it is, though," he said, heading off resolutely along the path towards the village green and Ingerton's mysterious visitor.

"Ben, oh- be careful!"

Ben Patterson followed the thing as quietly as possible, each tread of his feet gentle so his slippers did not make any noise to betray him. Something inside him was saying that he should be seen. Of course, that was ridiculous. Why should he want to sneak around? It wasn't like it was _dangerous_ or anything, whatever it was. Better to announce himself and hopefully scare it off, though he couldn't imagine scaring anything that _tall_ with his thin 6ft frame.

The figure started to cross into the road and Mr Patterson stared in surprise, as a smaller, man-sized figure appeared into view from in front of it, also shrouded heavily in black.

It was probably burglars, or trick-or-treaters from somewhere nearby that had decided to try their luck in Ingerton. Maybe someone should have told them that Ingerton's community was too small for Hallowe'en celebrations. Very few people went out trick-or-treating in England, for it wasn't generally safe for people to wander out after dark like that. The only ones who really wanted to were children - and these were no children.

It was the only thing he could think of. However much he said this to himself, he couldn't quite convince himself that it was true. There was something…something about them…

It seemed that the two figures no longer wanted to be hidden, for they walked now right down the centre of the black-tarred road. The larger figure's robes - for that's what they seemed to be - billowed out slightly in the breeze, which seemed to be picking up again. The smaller of the two headed on resolutely towards the centre of town, followed by its taller companion.

The rushing sound of a car caught Mr Patterson's attention for a second, and his dark eyes widened as the polished saloon car came speeding down the road, heading right towards the figure before it. He thought that the driver hadn't seen them, but at the last minute the screeching of breaks could be heard; the car was sliding across the tarmac, unable to stop in time. It was going to run them down-

_Let it hit them, let it hit them-_

-but the car didn't hit them. There was a brief flash of white light, and then silence. Mr Patterson let his eyes focus again as the sunspots faded - sunspots at half past nine at night! - and stared in shock and horror.

The car - and its driver - had gone.

And the black-robed people were still walking down towards the Church and green, as if nothing had happened.

One panicked thought ran over and over through Mr Patterson's shocked brain, something that was impossible, just wasn't within the human scope of ability -

_They did it. They did it. They made it disappear. They did it!_

Before he knew what he was doing, Mr Patterson was following them again, trying to keep as far into the dark as possible. As he thought of getting closer, the memory of that white light and the space where the car had been made him forget about it. There was no way in Hell that he was going to get too close, if those people had done what he thought they had.

The first figure reached the green and stepped up off the path onto the grass, stopping for a moment to look around. The follower stopped at the first's back. Mr Patterson's feet did not seem to want to stop, for he crept ever closer. Vaguely, the thought crossed his mind that no one else in their houses seemed to have seen the flash of light and come out to see what it was.

He stopped behind one of the trees at the end of the road where it forked off around either side of the circular green. He was within twenty feet of the still figures, trying to keep his distance enough that they didn't see him.

"…close. Far too close to stop now." Mr Patterson was surprised to find he could just about hear what the smaller figure was saying. It was a man's voice, pitched slightly too high for normal. Distinctive, was the word. "Everything's going to plan. We have his weakness. There's nothing he can do to stop it. He _is_ only human after all."

The larger figure did not reply, but drew in a long, deep, rattling breath, which the smaller seemed to take as agreement, for he inclined his head slightly towards the other. It - Mr Patterson didn't know _what_ it was - moved forward silently to the man's side and seemed to survey the green with him.

"It's frustrating, having to wait like this - my plans resting on the shoulders of a 17-year-old boy I don't trust," said the man - though what man had a voice that sounded like a snake? - to his companion, but his tone of voice implied that trust didn't really matter in this case. It was something akin to amusement that coloured that unnatural voice, and stayed there as he spoke again. "Let's just hope that both he and Harry Potter's personal interests are too strong to ignore, which I strongly believe to be the case."

The deep, chest rattling sounded again in reply.

Mr Patterson felt a dreadful chill begin to spread through his body from his chest. Whatever this man was talking about, it wasn't good. What could he do? He didn't understand what exactly was going on, first of all, but something told him that it would be a horrible, horrible thing of this man's plan was realised.

_I can't do anything. I'll go the same way as that car and its driver._

"However…" The robed figure's arms moved to fold over his chest. "I have things to do." A dry chuckle carried on the still air. "I believe the 'Shadow Killer' should make a reappearance."

Mr Patterson's eyes widened in shock and his mouth went dry with fear. His hands went to his mouth to muffle his surprised gasp. If he had heard correctly, then this was the serial killer who had been terrorising Southern England for months- the killer whose mark of leaving a green smoke skull inexplicably above the homes of his victims haunted the nightmares of many.

And he was going to kill someone here tonight.

The smaller man unfolded his arms and drew out a thin object from his pocket - it looked like a long, polished twig - and raised it. A great sense of foreboding filled Mr Patterson, tinged with a fear bordering on panic.

Suddenly, the man's raising arm stopped and there was silence for a few seconds before that high voice spoke once more. "Before I forget, you can have the Muggle eavesdropping on us. He won't live anyway."

Mr Patterson didn't understand, but suddenly the larger figure had turned and was moving towards him extremely quickly for something of that bulk. He gaped, too afraid to move as it reached him and gripped him tightly with one oozing, rotting hand. The other hand was going to the hood of its robes to draw it back.

The last thing Mr Patterson heard was a high, cold laugh as a pale, lipless mouth descended on him.

******

Harry had been trapped in the dark void that was unconsciousness for what seemed like an age. Hours, days, he couldn't tell, and he couldn't bring it upon himself to care.

There was nothing but blackness surrounding him, something inside his mind telling him that his eyes were open, and this void was indeed all that could be seen outside; all that there _was_.

There was little that he could feel, physically or mentally, in his current state of being. Harry couldn't remember what had happened to make him get here, but frankly he didn't mind. There was an odd sense of peace in the place where he was. A peace that he hadn't felt for as long as he could remember pervaded him, and he didn't want it to go.

However, slowly but surely, Harry felt himself seem to rise, up out of the voice into a state of unawareness before he realised that he was waking up. Winding slowly into consciousness, Harry found that he body was sluggish and unwilling to respond to his wishes of opening his eyes. He stayed in the dark, but this time he knew that if he could just get his muscles to work, he could end it.

As his body slowly became more enthusiastic about responding, he sensed that he was in a bed, and he was not alone in the room. Common sense told him that he was in the hospital wing, but for the life of him he couldn't remember why he would be there. Maybe it really wasn't common sense at all.

"…authorities are already there. We can't get close."

People were talking over him, definitely not to him, and it didn't seem like the soft of things to be said _about_ him.

"I think it was probably planned that way. But, to cause that much destruction, to massacre that many _innocents_…"

"For attention? Yes, it does seem excessive, even by _his_ standards."

_Maybe…just maybe…___

There was a thoughtful silence, and Harry struggled further to try and move, to open his eyes. He thought he made his finger twitch, but couldn't be sure.

"Maybe the attention of the Muggle community was what Voldemort wanted."

"What do you think he's trying to do? Surely, Albus, you aren't suggesting that he's _trying_ to draw their attention to our kind-"

"It would seem feasible. Think of the chaos that would ensue…"

_Just the kind of chaos Lord Voldemort wants._

"But inviting them to know about us would mean as much trouble for him-"

"You think that they can really stand up to Voldemort?"

"But their military-"

_Useless.__ Absolutely useless._

"The strongest weapons they own would destroy themselves as well, even if Voldemort couldn't stop them."

Another silence. Unease settled across Harry's chest, somehow giving him the strength to move his weary muscles. The weights on his eyelids lifted enough to allow him to crack them open. His head lolled to one side and he couldn't find the reserves to move again. The full extent of his exhaustion hit him like a wave then, and he was vaguely stunned. He felt vulnerable from the complete lack of control over his body. What had he been _doing_?

"Harry?" Rustling at the side of the bed where his head was facing, and Albus Dumbledore was crouching to his eye level. His face was unusually grey, eyes sombre and troubled. Harry couldn't even move his lips to say 'sir'.

"The amount of power that You-Know-Who used," said the other voice from his far side, "was phenomenal. He's going to be very weak for the next few days."

_What happened? What did Voldemort do?_

Either Dumbledore could read his mind - which he wouldn't put past the old man - or there had been question in his face, because the Headmaster smiled sadly at him and said softly, "A village in Kent was almost completely destroyed by Voldemort last night. You collapsed at the Hallowe'en party because some of that power lashed out along the link between _him_ and yourself."

Only about half of what Dumbledore said made any sense to Harry. He blinked owlishly, fighting to open his eyes again as he tired to understand what had happened.

The other presence - he assumed it was Poppy - started talking again. "Headmaster, I would leave the story until he can take it in. Now, all he needs is sleep. I would be surprised if he could hear you, right now."

Albus Dumbledore stood up and moved out of Harry's view. He let his eyes close, listening to Dumbledore's voice. "Of course, Poppy, I understand. God speed your recovery, Harry. Then…" Dumbledore sighed sadly. "Then…we will have to discuss the unfortunate fact that it seems that Voldemort doesn't need to be anywhere near you at all to cause your death. How will our supposed saviour ever prevail with all the odds against him, and when the very presence of the enemy renders him almost unable to fight?"

As Harry fell back willingly into that black voice he had climbed out of, his last thought was that there had never been any way for him to prevail, even without the complications.

*****

He didn't wake throughout the next day, and when he was shaken awake the afternoon afterwards, he was pleased to find that a lot more strength had returned to his weary body. Hermione and Ron came to visit, and he sat up in bed to talk to them.

Hermione re-explained what had happened, and Harry only vaguely remembered some of the events of the evening. Most was lost, to his frustration. Ron sympathised with him, having a terrible memory on an everyday basis, though his predicament was still outstripped by Neville's forgetfullness.

Despite collapsing, Harry was astounded by Hermione saying, "You didn't half scare Malfoy, though. You almost fell on him."

Something didn't seem quite right there. "Huh?"

"You were talking to Malfoy," Ron said, a slight hint of resentment colouring the way he spoke the name. "At the time, that is."

Harry frowned. "Why was I talking to Malfoy?"

_"Say my _name_…"_

They both shrugged. "That's what we - and half the school - were thinking."

_Fair enough_. "Okay then."

Hermione had brought in the Daily Prophet with her from two days ago - the morning after his fall. He took it and stared at the front page in numb shock. A huge picture of smoking ruins - there was the barely recognisable foundations of a ruined Church - stretched across the page. The trees were burnt, gnarled, or just plan blown apart. The burning remains of the houses were still smoking. Around the edges lay strangely shaped things, bent at all kinds of impossible angles, and there was blood, blood _everywhere-_

And there, hanging above it all, was the Dark Mark.

"They're bodies," Hermione murmured, seeing his confusion.

"But they don't even look like bodies, however much they could've been hurt-"

"I know," Hermione said, and by the soft tone of his voice, Harry realised that that was the entire point.

_Oh God. I feel sick._

Eyes drawn to the picture of carnage again, Harry noticed something else, narrowing his green eyes. "This is a Muggle photograph. Nothing's moving," he said.

"Stupid really," Ron piped up, eyeing the picture with distaste.

"And you can say that that picture there won't be as terrible to look at as any moving photo?" Hermione asked angrily, shooting her boyfriend an upset look. "It's called 'capturing the moment'!"

Ron kept quiet, startled by the woman's tone and unwilling to upset her any further by inadvertently saying something stupid.

Harry couldn't bear to see his friend so distraught - he knew she was getting more and more frightened for her own family - but could do nothing about it. He sat and stared at the paper, at it's awful picture-

_That's what I have to stop. At any cost. Even though nobody thinks I can do it._

"Professor Dumbledore's been really busy these past few days," Hermione said after a time of awkward quiet. "Someone told me that some people had got in touch with him about You-Know-Who. I don't know who they were, though, or what they wanted. They must be pretty important, since Dumbledore's fussing over them so much."

"Can't you find out something else, you being Head Girl and all?"

"That's what I found out _as_ Head Girl."

"Oh."

"Harry, when Dumbledore or Lupin or whoever comes in to see you-"

"Professor Lupin said he'd see Harry after we'd gone, didn't he?"

"- oh yes - Harry, surely they'd tell you something?"

Harry didn't really think he had much more chance of finding out information than Hermione did, but didn't say so. He nodded, hoping that to the others it meant that he would at least try.

After Hermione and Ron left, it didn't take long for Madam Pomfry to pop up with some food for him, which he devoured with relish. He hadn't know he was so hungry until his stomach grumbled loudly as Poppy entered, making her smile and Harry blush with embarrassment. Then he had been left alone for a little, allowed to watch the sky darken outside through the windows. He wondered when he would be able to get out of there, but he still felt weak.

Alone, Harry had nothing to do except think about what had happened. Voldemort had struck again, with one of his worst blows yet. Harry blinked tiredly at the ceiling, visions of the burning village flashing on the back of his eyelids.

_Dumbledore was right. How can I stop him? Whenever he uses the Dark Arts it hurts me, directed my way or not._

_But does _he _know that_? Harry realised with a started that as long as Voldemort himself didn't know of his enemy's weakness, it would be as crippling as it _could_ be. As long as he kept it secret.

He was in the middle of contemplating this when Professor Lupin arrived, Sirius in tow. Lupin looked as sick with worry as Sirius did, but some of this alleviated when he spotted Harry awake and alert. He smiled thinly. "Harry, how are you doing?"

"I'm doing okay," Harry replied, hauling himself back into a sitting position. "Herm' and Ron visited earlier. They said you would be coming later."

Sirius grinned wolfishly, in seemingly high spirits. "And they were right. Look, Harry, you'll be fine with all of us taking care of you. Voldemort won't be able to lay a hand on you."

_He doesn't need to_, Harry thought forlornly. _He can kill me from wherever he wants. He could be in bloody __Albania__ again and it wouldn't matter_.

Sirius, seeing his godson's expression fall, settled himself on the bed and patted Harry's knee. "Hey, hey…it's all okay. I wouldn't let it get you down. We're all here to support you. You don't have to do this alone."

_No? I'm not so sure about that._

"Has Dumbledore been talking to you, then?" he asked, half-accusingly, half-defeated, as Lupin hovered worriedly at Sirius' back.

"Not much about you," the teacher admitted. "He did mention that something had to be done about your connection to Voldemort. But…we might have that covered. We've been busy with another matter that's come up, though."

_Maybe that's what Hermione was talking about._ "What's that, then?"

Lupin and Sirius exchanged a brief look. "Well…" Lupin coughed. "Some people got in touch with Dumbledore about Voldemort, that's all."

"Who did?" Harry asked, watching his teacher expectantly. "Come on," he said as he thought it, "if it's got to do with Voldemort, _I'm_ going to have to know, if you think about it."

Abruptly, Sirius laughed. "You won't get nowhere like that, Harry. We've been sworn to secrecy until Dumbledore clears it, and we've been warned _especially_ not to tell _you_."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, feeling rather annoyed by this. "I'll blame _you_ if I get killed because of withheld information."

Sirius snorted and Lupin cracked a small smile. "No good, Harry," Sirius continued. "You won't get it out of us. You'll just have to wait and see, like the other students."

"Like the _other_ students?" came a low voice from nearby, startling Harry, though Lupin just looked over towards its owner with mild curiosity. "Surely _Harry_ transcends that. After all, he is supposed to be everyone's 'knight in shining armour', as muggles say, come to save us all from certain death."

Only one person in the entire world would dare speak like that to a teacher. Harry suppressed a groan - finding that he was also surprised by the new visitor's presence - and followed Lupin's gaze to where Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway of the room. He looked thin and pale in his black robes, and his eyes were slightly bloodshot, as if he hadn't been able to sleep at all for several nights. Other than that, he looked as perfect and immaculate as always and still the epitome of English sarcasm.

_But he does it so _well.

"What do you want?" Sirius asked coldly, recognising the teenager as Lucius' son, and heir to the Malfoy estate.

Draco turned defiant eyes to the Gryffindor protector. "I came to see Potter."

_Not 'Harry' anymore. I should have guessed. Maybe I dreamed that whole conversation in the library. It was certainly weird enough to have come from my twisted head._

"What for?" Sirius continued, not satisfied in the least with that short reply.

The Slytherin lowered his eyelashes, regarding Harry's godfather with his usual aloofness. "Well," he drawled, "considering that the _last_ time I spoke to him he _fell_ on me - quite unexpected - I decided that it would be a nicety to see how he was." He shot Harry a resentful glare. "And you ruined my dress robes, by the way. I hope you're happy."

Harry had the urge to laugh, but held it back, settling for a vague, self-satisfied smile.

"Well, go on then." Sirius fought back his own smile, motioning for Draco to go ahead with what he wanted to say, knowing full well that Draco did not want an audience.

Draco sneered in disgust, and, never one to admit defeat too easily, turned to Harry and said, "I trust you weren't hurt too badly." Something in his eyes made Harry wonder whether Draco had wanted him to be hurt or not.

"No. I'm fine," Harry replied genially, smiling quite smugly at Draco, knowing that the blond was extremely uncomfortable in his current position. "Thank you for asking."

"What made you collapse?" A more daring question, though not suspicious.

"Must have been too hot in there," Harry said easily, not going to betray the real reason to someone whose father was near enough Voldemort's right-hand man. "It's nothing serious."

Draco looked decidedly doubtful. "Potter, it's now _November_. Are you _sure_ you didn't addle your brains around a bit, or are you just naturally stupid?"

_Or that bad a liar.__ You don't have to say it, I know you're thinking it._

"Naturally stupid, I think," Harry replied. "And we _were_ inside, Malfoy. We weren't standing outside in the cold. It probably was quite hot in there."

Something passed over Draco's face for a second. "Probably? You don't remember?"

Harry glanced at Sirius and Lupin, who were both following the conversation with polite curiosity on their faces. Harry didn't believe it for a second. "No," he replied after a moment. "I don't remember much at all. 'Mione and Ron said I was talking to you, but I don't remember _why_, _or_ what we were talking about."

"Oh," Draco murmured. Harry thought he saw disappointment in the blond's grey eyes for a second, and felt an intense desire to ask about it to fill in the blanks in his head. However, with Lupin, Sirius _and_ Draco's obvious discomfort all in one room, he decided against it.

_Maybe later_.

"Sorry," he said softly when no one spoke. Broken out of his thoughts by the word, Draco stared at Harry half-hatefully, half-hurtfully, before saying coldly, "I've said what I came to say. I'm going now." He spun round and strode towards the door, pausing only just before he left to speak again, his voice decidedly softer.

"It wasn't hot, by the way. You told me you had goosebumps."

*****

Draco started resentfully at Harry's back from where he sat at the Slytherin table. It had been several days since he had seen the dark-haired boy in the hospital wing and Harry had only just been allowed to come back to normal school. It was the evening meal on that day, and The Boy Who Lived had not left Draco's thoughts for more than a minute since Hallowe'en, much to his annoyance.

He had been hurt when Harry had said he didn't remember the Hallowe'en party. They had been talking. That was it. _Talking_. Once something totally out of reach for both of them because they _hated_ each other so much, and yet they had been _doing_ it. Conversing quite normally for any two boys their age.

He had been _happy_. Happy because Harry Potter really _was_ the noble, nice-guy everyone said he was, and he was willing to overlook 6 years of abuse in that moment just to chat idly with Draco Malfoy. And Draco, in his turn, had overlooked 6 years of snubs, returned insults and _loathing_ to talk to _him_.

And Harry really _did_ look quite attractive in dress robes.

But now that was gone. He tried to tell himself that he didn't mind, that it didn't matter, but he still felt that loss, that feeling that something important had slipped between his fingers like sand and, however hard he tried, he wouldn't be able to get it back.

Trying to turn his mind away from the aching hurt, Draco found that the only other thing his mind would dwell upon was the letter his father had sent him the day before. It offered no respite, and only caused more conflicting emotions to rise in him. The content had been…uncomfortable…to say that least.

_'Dear Son, I have had word that the ring you were wearing is not functioning correctly. I know full well what you've probably done with it, but I advise that you wear it at all times or bring the wrath of the Dark Lord upon you.'_

At that point in time, the anger of Voldemort would probably be welcome, rather than carry on with what he had assigned Draco as a mission.

_'And, speaking of the Dark Lord, he has been enquiring upon your process with your target, since he cannot get at you through the ring. He has told me that he wishes for progress, because he needs to know that it's done. He has been told that the Elves are moving, massing what is left of their scattered forces to join the war against him, and does not need to worry about _you_ when he has more pressing matters.'_

The idea of Voldemort worrying about him was ludicrous and not just a little frightening. He had mixed feelings about the Elves. If they joined the war Voldemort would surely lose. Though their numbers had dwindled, they were still a force that could scatter enemy forces with fear alone. And then, even as he hoped that this would be true, what would happen to him when they found out the task Voldemort had set for him?

_'Get on with what you have been told to do. Without Harry Potter, Dumbledore's side will crumble. They have no hope without him. Make sure you destroy it. Lucius.'_

*****

Returning to normal lessons, Harry noticed that Draco was being far more elusive than usual. He rarely saw the blond except at meals and the lessons they shared, and this was both a relief and a cause for concern. Draco behaving this way usually pointed towards him planning something, though _what_, Harry could not say. Thinking about it, he didn't really want to know, and dismissed Draco from his thoughts as much as was possible.

On his third day back they had double potions. Harry sat at his normal place on the back row, as far away from Snape as possible. The Potions Master was sitting at his desk at the front of the class, hands steepled under his long chin as he coldly watched the class file in. Harry watched Draco move to his place near the front, wondering what was going on in that blond head of his.

Snape had lost weight recently, his robes hanging from his thin frame a little more than normal. Harry knew that it was probably due to his spying. The Professor never missed a lesson, but some days he would enter the dungeon looking as if he had not slept. This did nothing to dull his sharp tongue, in fact it only seemed to hone it, but just made him look decidedly ill.

This was one of those days. Harry could tell he was ready to break something, rather like a coiled serpent waiting to strike. He let his eyes linger on every student for a few moments, just enough to let them know they were being watched, before moving onto the next one. When he looked at Harry, the Gryffindor met his teacher's gaze head on, feeling the most sorry for Snape as he had ever done in his entire life. What he was doing could cost him his life, and he knew that.

Sitting on the desk in front of Professor Snape was a small vial of clear liquid. It _looked_ innocent enough, but if this was something from Snape's cupboards it probably didn't even know the meaning of the word, let alone _be_ it.

"When you're all done wasting my time," Snape snapped icily, not moving an inch where he sat. The whole class went silent, watching the vial or the teacher apprehensively. "Idle chit-chat at the wrong time will get you killed, if you're lucky. And this _is_ the wrong time. No teacher in this school can waste time teaching students who will not use what they learn. I am less patient than most of them. Anyone caught slacking in my class will be thrown out, and they will not come back."

The class seemed stunned by this, and Neville looked positively terrified of the prospect. Ron dared murmur to Harry, "Who bets Neville doesn't make it to the end of this lesson?"

Snape shot Ron a dark look before unlacing his fingers and placing them on the desk either side of the vial. "Now, since enough of my lesson has already gone: does anyone have any idea what this substance might be?"

Not even Hermione put her hand up.

Snape surveyed the perfectly silent, uncomfortable students. "Good, because you should never have heard of it. It was banned in the 1500s, and no one has ever dared try and brew it until this year." At this point he gave the vial a long look of its own. "This sample was taken from a Death Eater last week, and has yet to be destroyed. Technically I should not even be showing it to you, but Dumbledore has advised that I do so, since it seems that He Who Must Not Be Named intends to use it."

At this point, Hermione tentatively raised a hand and, at a sharp nod from Snape, said, "Sir, what _is_ it?"

A small, tight smiled decided to grace Snape's thin lips, but it wasn't a pleasant expression in the least. "Its technical name is _Arabus__ Ellandil_. Only the Elves used to be able to make it. They used to make it and use it so skilfully that the effect it had wasn't dangerous at all. However, when it got into the hands of wizards, they found another use for it." The smile disappeared, replaced with a grim expression as the class waited with almost bated breath to know what they were looking at. "It used to have many names in our tongue, once its effect was known. The most common, however, was the Black Ivy Potion. Black Ivy is extremely rare and almost none exists anymore. To put it mildly, a mere drop of this potion will turn you incurably insane."

_To put it _mildly_?___

"If it touches the skin, the effected area will turn black, dry out, and it will spread. The blood will become infected and turn black, slowly starving your body of oxygen until you suffocate, and dying can take _days_. However, if swallowed, the effect is much worse. Not only does it burn away muscle in your mouth and throat and stomach, it will keep you in a never ending cycle of agony until you go mad. Even then it does not stop. You become violent, to yourself and others." For a moment a strange, haunted look settled on Snape's face. "I saw the person this substance had been used on before I took this. All their skin was black and shrunken, like they had been burned. They were screaming in agony. All the blood vessels in their eyes had burst and were turning black. They were trying to climb the walls of the room, shrieking like a banshee. I saw them rip great chunks of dried flesh out of their arms to try and stop the pain. When they started gasping for air from lack of oxygen as their blood dried up, I had to kill them."

There was a horrified sniffling from one side of the room, and Harry turned his head to see Lavender trying not to burst into terrified tears. As Harry looked around the rest of the class, feeling oddly numb, he saw that everyone looked afraid.

"There is no cure, or, if there was, it is no longer recorded. It cannot be stopped, like the Cruciatus curse can. It is absolute."

_Oh God, if Voldemort is brewing this stuff…_

Quite suddenly, a malicious smile lit Snape's face. "Does anyone volunteer to demonstrate the effects?"

*****

Neville _did_ make it to the end of potions, but only because he was too terrified that Snape would chose to use the Black Ivy potion on him - or throw him out of class - that he copied down everything so frantically that he was the first to finish, and knew what was at stake if he answered a question wrong. Snape seemed to have deemed him fit to carry on in his class and let him go unharmed.

Hermione and Ron still seemed stunned as they went to lunch and then made their way to Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sitting down, they saw the most of the class was still like that; sombre, meek and not a little scared of what Professor Lupin might come up with for them to do in the wake of their potions lesson.

_They'll all have nightmares about what that potion does. I know I will._

Harry was rather surprised to see Sirius sitting on the teacher's desk, legs swinging quite happily as Lupin nosed his way through something in a book as they filed into place. Sirius grinned at Harry's confused expression, winking. Sirius seemed unusually happy, and had been for quite a while now. It was quite amusing to see sometimes. They would enter the common room and find Lupin sitting in an armchair trying to read a book, and Sirius would be sitting by the fire, throwing things into it that made satisfying popping sounds. Every time he would glance back at his old friend, who was studiously ignoring the other's vain attempts to irritate him.

Lupin finally closed his book and looked up. "Right, now-" He paused, frowning when he saw the expressions on all their faces. "What's up with you lot then?"

Everyone glanced at each other. Seamus told Lupin about the potion Snape had told them that the Death Eaters were brewing to use. Sirius listened with interest, eyebrows faintly raised. "I wouldn't worry too much about it," Lupin said finally. "That stuff is extremely hard to make. I'll bet that the vial Snape has is _all_ that was made, and I doubt anyone else was making any, or _will_."

This didn't seem to ease their fears much, so he carried on valiantly with the lesson. "Mr Black here-" he motioned to Sirius, who saluted the class, "-is an animagus, like Professor McGonagall." He made a vague gesture and Sirius slid off the table and into the form of Snuffles, the large black dog Harry had once thought was a death omen following him around in the third year. The class all craned their heads to see, and all gasped as Sirius switched back. "Very interesting, isn't it," Lupin said, in a way that suggested it was anything but. "Now, some of the Death Eaters will be unregistered or registered animagi, and if you find one, here are some spells to keep them from transforming back into animal form, and some spells for detecting them…"

Sirius submitted himself to the spells of every one of the class merrily, until Lupin deemed him unfit for any more, even though the black-haired man insisted he was fine as he stumbled into a table, cursing loudly and making the class laugh. Harry found this highly amusing and quite fun to do, and everyone launched into the lesson with gusto. Quite instantaneously, everyone forgot Snape's potion.

Sitting in his own lesson, Draco Malfoy stared blankly at the board, not paying attention at all. In front of his eyes was a vision of an old, hidden cupboard he had stumbled across at home once during the summer holiday that year, and on the top shelf had been several tiny bottles of a clear, innocent-looking liquid.

_Oh God._

What if his father had been getting Black Ivy potion made from the same man Snape had obviously 'disabled'?

_What if he uses it? Oh no, oh…I can't…_

_I can't follow him if he condones that. Even _I _found it barbaric…I just can't…oh God…_

The vision haunted him through the rest of the day and well into the night.

And then another letter came.

*****

Harry stayed in the common room very late that night, dozing off in one of the comfortable old chairs by the fire, waking every half hour or so to check the time. Every time he vowed he would get up and go to bed, but sleep claimed him before he could do it. At about 3am, he sat in the chair, eyes half closed, staring at the fire in a rather peaceful frame of mind.

Out of the blue there was a loud pounding on the portrait, and muffled cries from two people. One was the Fat Lady indignantly shrieking "Ah! Get off me! Get off!", and the other was a man's voice.

"Someone let me in! I don't know the password, let me in!"

_What the-?_

Dazed, confused and not thinking straight at all, Harry quickly made his way to the portrait and swung it up from the inside, coming face to face with a tall, slender figure shrouded in a cloak, very pale, very tired-looking, and very upset.

_If I didn't know how much it must have taken you to come here, I'd turn you away, or turn you over to Dumbledore._

"Harry," he said with tangible relief.

_'Harry' again._

"What do you want, Draco?" He had intended it to be cold, snappy, trying to make him go away, but instead his voice was soft, concerned. Exactly how he felt. "What's wrong?"

The Slytherin was breathing fast, as if he'd run all the way from his own common room. "Harry, I need your help." He panted, trying to catch his breath. He was holding something in a trembling hand, and it drew Harry's eye. A piece of paper – a letter? What was going on?

"I need your help, you're the only one-" Draco cut himself off, the words obviously not coming out as he had wanted them to. "I need you to come with me to Dumbledore. You're coming away with me after Christmas, right? I need you to help me-"

_Maybe it was a good thing I didn't make it to bed._

It was going to be a long night.

*****

End Chapter 5.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, the settings, etc, just the plot  : ) which is going in a totally new direction right now but oh well. We'll see where it leads.

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope you review again ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

Broken Bridges 

A Harry Potter Fanfiction 

by Knowing Shadows 

Disclaimer: See Previous Chapters. 

About the Elves: I don't actually remember it saying anywhere that the only Elves in existence were House Elves, but if it does then I'm sorry. I need something for later on in the fic, and the only race I can think of that might exist in HP that may be able to fulfill this part are Elves! And I wouldn't put it down to reading too much LoTR, but too much Mirror of Maybe, lol. 

Warning: Since I've just re-read Prisoner of Azkaban, expect RL/SB in here somewhere. 

***** 

***** 

Chapter 6.

The Hogwarts' staff room was a clever thing. It could safely gauge the state of affairs in the wizarding world by counting the number of staff meetings within a certain period of time, the number of people present, and the number of those people who never usually attended. At this point in time the staff room knew that things couldn't be good: this was the second staff meeting in so many weeks, and an abnormally large number of people were attending them. 

Most of the chairs in the staff room had been taken up that early December night, and the fire was roaring brightly where several of the unseen House Elves had stoked it up. Many of the staff present were huddled as close to the fire as they could get, knowing full well from earlier occasions that it got chilly at this time of night, despite the fire in question. Professor Dumbledore sat in the grandest chair in the room, and looked like he had just gotten out of bed, though many of the staff were certain he had been working all evening. His robes - blue, and covered with silver crescent moons and gold blazing suns - were normal enough, but the little pale blue stripy cap with the tip limping over was distracting most of the those in the room who were not used to the headmaster's eccentricities. 

Professor Snape sat in his favourite armchair by the fire, wrapped up in a black cloak that was acting as a makeshift blanket, frowning at the flickering flames as if what was going on in the rest of the room held no interest for him. McGonagall sat near Dumbledore, wringing her hands in her lap. Her expression kept changing every so often from a disapproving frown to a worried expression, as if she'd forgotten for a moment that the people in the room weren't students and didn't need to be glared at so suspiciously, but then changed back again as she seemed to forget that they were staff after all. The other staff were talking amongst themselves quietly. The eight non-teaching (and one teaching) staff sat a little apart in smaller clusters, obviously wanting the meeting to be over so that they could go to bed. 

Remus Lupin was very tired. He was wrapped up, like Professor Snape, in a thick cloak, but he still shivered. He had been in the middle of trying to grade some homework essays when the impromptu (but expected) staff meeting had been called. He didn't particularly want to go back to marking, but would rather be there in the half-privacy of his own room than here, so close to full moon and feeling as ill as he did. Professor Snape's potion always made him feel ill at this time of the month - oh, the jokes he'd had to endure because of that particular phrase - but lately it had been an almost crippling sickness, though he daren't let anyone know how bad it was. 

The wolf was fighting him more than ever now that it knew something was happening. It fed on his worry, and then fed it back to him tenfold. 

"Are you sure you're up to this, Moony?" 

It took Remus several moments to register Sirius Black's word and turn his head towards his friend, and by that time he knew that Sirius wouldn't accept his answer of "Yes, of course." Sirius' eyes were filled with worry, and a half-understanding that made Remus uncomfortable. The wolf was _his_ problem, and he certainly couldn't try and unload it onto others when they'd already done so much. 

"I'll live," he replied, compromising, but knew that Sirius didn't really believe he was as okay as he tried to make out. The taller wizard sat faithfully at his side, much too like a guard dog for Remus' liking. "The potion helps, and Severus' got more of it." 

That wasn't entirely a lie, he supposed, but it seemed to settle Sirius down more. Severus did indeed have the potion made in bulk - an entire new cauldron-full, made on top of everything else that the Potions Master was doing. It was only the first part he had lied about, but it was for Severus' good as well as his own: Sirius would probably go for the teacher's throat if he knew that his potion made Remus wonder if letting the wolf free on the full moon would be a lot less pain and hassle than keeping it 'docile'. 

The six other House Protectors (as Dumbledore liked to call them) sat close to them, but talked amongst themselves more than they included Sirius and Remus. Remus was fine with that, but he knew it irked Sirius and made him paranoid that he had done less to shake his 'psycho-wizard' reputation than he'd hoped. The two Slytherin protectors sat furthest away, sending suspicious and angry glances their way with little to hide it. Remus ignored them, but also knew it was taking Sirius a large amount of self-control to do the same when he could so easily make a scene if he so pleased. 

Dumbledore coughed softly, and the room went silent, awaiting his word apprehensively. The old headmaster stood slowly, and even his hat couldn't detract from the seriousness in his expression. "I have called you all here this evening to discuss recent events, of which I am sure you are all aware. Hogwarts and its students need to be protected, and that is what we are here for." 

_A whole Hogwarts class and a turret gone. Muggles disappearing from all over the country. And now that poor village - destroyed, for no reason that we can fathom. And Harry - how can we protect him from his link with Voldemort? The more aggressive Voldemort gets, the more Dark Magic he'll use. Harry could easily die. After all, he's only a boy._

_The Elves. Dumbledore said something about the Elves._

Everything went blissfully blank for a moment, and Remus didn't even realise it. 

Remus became dimly aware that it had gone quiet and as he pulled his concentration back from wherever it had gone, he realised everyone in the room was watching him. He blinked wearily, catching and loathing Dumbledore's concerned expression. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that?" 

"I asked how you're doing with curses in your classes, Remus," Dumbledore said softly, without hinting anything, though Remus knew the clever old man believed something to be wrong, beyond tiredness. 

"The third years are just about ready to start the Unforgivable Curses, and fourth years and above are all studying them extensively, or have already done so. The second years are learning, but no demonstrations yet of the Unforgivables. They're doing some of the simpler hexes and curses and such at the moment. All the first years are a little bit overwhelmed, to be honest. They're all scared. There's only so much I can do without sending them running for their parents. I'm doing as much as I feel they can cope with, which, being truthful, isn't as much as I'd like." 

"You're doing as best as can be done, thank you." Dumbledore nodded, looking away and drawing scrutiny away from Remus as he sighed. "The students can only protect themselves so much. Dear Mr Lupin has rather a lot upon his shoulders, teaching the students Defence Against The Dark Arts as well as acting as House Protector." And dealing with a trapped wolf that wants to go the same way as the Dementors did. "The House Protectors are a necessary but limited investment. There are too few of you, but I cannot have the school overrunning with adults and expect everything to run as smoothly as I would like." 

Remus frowned at Dumbledore. _A limited investment? Then why invest in a werewolf and an ex-Azkaban inmate at all? I'm even more limited as a protector if I'm teaching as well._

"A compromise, I like to call it." Dumbledore smiled. "Perhaps an act of desperation, but I don't like to think that we are so far gone as to call it that either, yet. You know what you can do, you know what you are here for, and that is all I can ask." 

Remus hesitated, knowing that Sirius had sensed it. Dumbledore was watching him as well, waiting for him to speak. Eventually, taking a deep breath, he asked, "How did you get me past the Ministry as a teacher again, Professor?" _Why did you do it?___

Dumbledore smiled widely, and Remus wondered if he'd been expecting - anticipating - the question. "My dear Remus, you have more than proved yourself in the last years. Foremost, you have saved an innocent man from the Dementor's Kiss." Remus suddenly felt hot with embarrassment, knowing Sirius was giving him a pleased stare. "Your service to the Order has been exemplary. Why would I not trust you to teach these children to defend themselves? And the Ministry has far more pressing matters to deal with than keep vetoing my insistance that I reinstate you as a teacher." 

_Keep vetoing? Do you want me here so much, Dumbledore?_ Remus nodded. "Thank you, Headmaster." _Why, why? Why is it so crucial that I be here instead of anywhere else? I'm a _werewolf - 

And all at once the answer hit him with sudden sharp clarity. The wolf was the reason he was at Hogwarts again. He was meant to be a protector for the Gryffindor students, but his own placement under Dumbledore's nose was as much for the student's protection against _him _as it was anything else. He froze for a moment as he let the thought sink in, and it left him feeling cold, helpless, and somewhat bitter. 

The headmaster was silent for a moment, thoughtful, before speaking again. "I suppose we'd better move on to Harry Potter then, hadn't we." 

***** 

Harry Potter was not very happy. At all. It was probably gone midnight and he was tired, but he was being kept awake. Not _only_ was he being kept awake, but his chair - _his chair!_ - had been usurped by the unwelcome, non-Gryffindor guest who had appeared not five minutes ago waving a bit of paper around and making it sound like the world was about to end whilst he, The Boy Who Lived, obviously had to sort him out and stop him from thinking such melodramatic thoughts when nothing of the sort was happening. 

Not to say that the letter wasn't interesting, though. 

Perhaps it was because he was tired, but he was having difficulty taking the letter seriously. Draco Malfoy sat in the oversized chair, scowling at him - as if daring him to laugh - as he read. He was waiting for some kind of reaction, but Harry didn't honestly know what to say. 

_To be quite honest, I think this is the most ridiculous thing Voldemort has ever tried._   
  
"You think this is _funny_, Potter?" Malfoy suddenly snapped, his eyes almost hidden because his frown was so deep. "I'm glad one of us finds this amusing, because _I_ don't!" 

"I didn't say anything!" Harry said indignantly, but the glare Malfoy gave him was enough to stop any more protests he might have made. "But...I don't understand..." Brushing his hair out of his eyes, Harry glanced over the letter once more. "Why come to me? Why not go straight to Dumbledore?" He couldn't help the smirk that settled across his face. "I'm not going to forget about _this_ for a while!" 

A strange kind of desperation suddenly melted Malfoy's severe scowl, and he stared at Harry like that as the dark-haired boy's smirk faded. The expression made him feel suddenly uncomfortable, and the silence didn't help. "What?" he asked. "What did I say?" 

Draco's expression faded into disappointment, but then the blond shook his head. "I brought it to you because you need to know. I'm not acting as a Death Eater because I _want_ to." 

"Again, the civilised behaviour isn't sitting quite right with me," Harry said, holding out the letter for Malfoy to take. He let the Death Eater comment slide. They had both come to an understanding about two years ago that there was no point denying that Draco's father was a Death Eater, because Harry had seen him at Voldemort's side. What did surprise him, however, was how easily Draco spoke about it to him. "I could easily tell the entire school what you're supposed to be doing with me-" He paused, let what he had just said sink in, and blushed even as Malfoy's cheeks took a definite hue of pink to them. "Appropriate puns aside, I don't trust your reasoning." 

"And you telling the whole school that you were supposed to fall in-" Malfoy trailed off at that point, unable to say it. "You're hardly going to come off better than me if you do, considering the Dark Lord obviously thought that you _would_." 

"Good point." Harry sat down in one of the other chairs and thought for a moment, rubbing his scar wearily. "Look, Malfoy - Draco - I appreciate what you've done, but it's really late, and I don't want to have to contemplate Voldemort's latest attempt to kill me at this time in the morning. Couldn't this have waited?" 

Draco looked suddenly indignant, and the familiar haughty expression that had been absent beforehand appeared. "Well I'm _sorry_ if the great Harry Potter doesn't appreciate his beauty sleep being interrupted so that us mere mortals can _help_ him-" 

"I haven't _been_ to sleep yet," Harry pointed out. 

"Neither have I! And there I was thinking that I was _helping!_" Malfoy threw up his hands in disgust, rolling his grey eyes. "I'll just go and let you get killed while I'm at it. Lord knows enough people out there would be _grateful_." 

"You're such a git," Harry snapped, scowling across the common room at the Slytherin boy. The fire crackled angrily as if to support him. "Tomorrow morning, we'll go to Dumbledore, okay? After breakfast. _Then_ we can talk about it. I _do_ want to sleep tonight at some point." 

"Fine. Whatever _you_ want." Malfoy stood up stiffly, his lips set in a thin line, clutching the letter parchment grimly in his hand. "It's always about what _you_ want. Ever since you were _bloody_ born." 

"I'll show you to the door, if you like," Harry said sharply, ignoring him and indicating the back of the portrait. 

Malfoy seemed to shake where he stood, furious. His eyes blazed with it, and then he stalked past Harry wordlessly, seeing himself out without a sound. After the portrait of the Fat Lady swung closed, Harry stood fuming in place for a long time before going to bed. 

***** 

"Moony?" 

The voice sounded familiar, but Remus couldn't place a name or a face to it. He remembered that he liked listening to it, though. Once, he thought vaguely, he'd been lulled to sleep by that voice whispering in his ear. 

"Moony? Rem', wake up." 

Wake up? Remus wondered, as he pulled himself reluctantly out of the blissful darkness he had been in. Why would he want to wake up? He _was_ awake, because he'd just been marking- 

_Oh_. 

He blinked awake after a moment, his incentive being the annoyingly insistent hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. His cheek was half-pressed against his arm and half-pressed against the cool wood of the desk he was sitting at. Blearily, he could make out a small pile of papers sitting on the desk. His hand was resting on them, his quill lying across the parchments, having slipped from his curled fingers. He must have fallen asleep - passed out, more likely - not long after he'd come back from the meeting, because that pile of essays hadn't gone down much at all since the last time he remembered seeing it. 

"Moony, you 'wake?" It was Sirius Black's voice, he remembered now, soft in the half-light of the room they shared. 

"Mmmm..." Remus could feel the vibration of the half-coherent noise in his arm and head where they connected. 

"Come on, Moony, you've got to get up and go to bed. Otherwise you'll complain at me in the morning that I let you sleep at your desk." He was being tugged upright but his eyes closed as Sirius got him into a sitting position. "Oh, no you don't. Wake up. I'm not carrying you!" 

"You will if I don't get up," Remus murmured, but opened his eyes anyway. Sirius was smiling at him, and he couldn't help but smile back tiredly. The dark-haired man pulled one of Remus' arms over his shoulder and began to haul him up out of the chair. Remus groaned as his aching muscles protested, but barely stumbled once he'd managed to get his legs under him. He could see his bed, looking invitingly comfortable on the other side of the room, but it seemed very far away. "Can't I just sleep here? If I moan in the morning just remind me that _I_ wanted to sleep on the floor." 

Sirius chuckled, but shook his head. "Dumbledore kindly provided you with a bed, so you'd better use it." He started across the room, and Remus was forced to follow or pull them both down to the floor. He yawned as they went, but thankfully the bed approached pretty quickly. 

Sirius slipped out from under Remus' arm, and the werewolf hadn't been aware that the other man's arm had been around his waist until he felt Sirius' fingertips drag along the cloth over his lower back as he moved away. He stopped himself from flinching, but stood frozen to the spot for several moments, his skin tingling almost unpleasantly. 

He must have blacked out for a moment again, because the next thing he knew, he was swaying slightly on his feet and Sirius' fingers were working on the buttons of his robes. His eyes widened and this time he couldn't stop the flinch, pulling away from his dark-haired friend and backing up several steps. "Sirius, please-" 

"I _wasn't_," Sirius glowered, and Remus felt a little guilty for what he had been thinking Sirius was trying. "You were falling asleep on your feet. I was just getting your robes off. You're still wearing things underneath. I was even going to leave your _shoes_ on if that makes you happy." 

Remus sighed, and sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. "Look, Sirius, I'm really tired, and I'm not thinking properly...I'm sorry." 

He felt the weight dipping the bed next to him, but didn't look up. "I know you're not feeling entirely yourself," Sirius murmured softly. "You should rest up for a few days, at least." 

"No. No, they need a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'll live. I just need to...sleep..." 

"For a few days, like I said." Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're worse than _I_ am." 

Remus snorted. 

"Well, maybe not quite so bad...but you're not far off." A sigh, and then, "Come on, Moony. Off to bed with you." Sirius' still-light frame moved off the bed and Remus watched him for a moment before looking down at the unbuttoned collar of his own robes. He lifted his hands to the next button and realised his hands were trembling. Sheepishly, he looked up from his hands to Sirius' watchful, handsome face. "Help?" 

The Animagus grinned. "Stand up then, you lazy bugger." 

***** 

Harry had almost forgotten his late night encounter with Malfoy by the time he woke up the next morning by Ron jumping onto his bed and then leaping off of it again. Groping for his glasses, Harry saw that Ron seemed to be launching himself from bed to bed, waking people as he went, trying to grasp a small feathery object from the air. 

"Get back here, Pig! Stupid bird! _Why can't you stay in your bloody cage?!_" Ron shrieked, giving a spectacular leap and catching his owl in his fist. He yelped as he landed, losing his footing on the edge of Seamus' bed and crashing into the floor. Pig, for his part, was hooting quite happily, little wings flapping between Ron's clawed fingers. 

Harry's watch told him that it was time to get up anyway, so he slowly crawled out of bed along with the others in the room. Seamus still looked shocked from having been woken up by Ron standing on his bed yelling, and sent strange looks in the red-head's direction as Ron clambered up off the floor and half-threw the owl in its cage, securing the door properly. Pig hooted pleasantly at him once he'd finished. 

Hermione met them on the way down to breakfast and rolled her eyes as Ron continually complained through breakfast about his owl. "You know, at least Scabbers would stay where you put him," he said darkly, but he didn't mean it. The mention of the rat from anyone else still made Ron seethe with anger and shame. 

Breakfast was a delicious affair of waffles with thick syrup, which Hermione blanched at but Ron and Harry dived into with relish. "Your teeth will fall out," she said to Ron doubtfully as he finished his third waffle in as many minutes. Ron gave her a look which clearly stated that he thought she was quite mad. 

Harry had started on his third waffle as Ron poured syrup gleefully over his fourth. He looked up cautiously to glance at the Slytherin table, but Draco's blond head wasn't turned in his direction. He seemed to be happily conversing with several of the other Slytherin boys. Pansy Parkinson sat to one side of him, looking quite proud to have snatched the lucrative seat, but did not seem to be included in the talking. 

Abruptly, Malfoy looked up at met his gaze across the hall. He went very pale, and then sneered and went back to his conversation with the other Slytherins. _Somebody's a little embarrassed about last night, aren't they?_ If he'd ever imagined himself to have an advantage over Draco Malfoy, it wouldn't ever have been something like this. 

"Oi, have you seen Professor Lupin yet?" Ron was saying, and Harry's attention was brought back to the Gryffindor table. Harry shook his head, glancing up to the extended teacher's table, where the House Protectors sat with the teaching staff. Lupin sat between Sirius and Snape, which seemed to be an odd arrangement in itself. Sirius was speaking to him, and Lupin had his head turned towards his dark-haired friend, listening. Snape sat stiffly on Remus' left, but he kept glancing out of the corner of his eye at them. His face seemed to be set in a darker scowl than normal. 

"What about him?" Harry squinted a little, but could see nothing different about the Professor except for the fact that he looked very tired. 

"He was dead on his feet this morning when I saw him walking around," Ron said. "Is it the full moon soon or something?" 

Harry shrugged, but Hermione nodded. "In a couple of days, I think." 

"I had this thought the other day," Ron said softly, leaning in closer to the other two so no-one else would be able to overhear. "He's a werewolf right? And that's, well, you know - _bad_. Like boggarts and dragons and three headed dogs named Fluffy kind of bad. Well, when he's a wolf it is. So...d'you reckon when he's a wolf, the wolf can feel what's going on and fancies running off the way the Dementors did?" 

Technically, Harry supposed, the Dementors hadn't run off _anywhere_. "I don't know, to be honest. I wouldn't want to ask him, though. If it does, he won't be too happy being reminded about it." 

"Maybe that's the reason Dumbledore brought Sirius here as well," Hermione said suddenly, and they both looked at her. "Professor Lupin said that he felt less like a wolf when he transformed if Sirius and the others were around. Perhaps Sirius is a kind of...failsafe?" She nodded to the teaching table. "Dumbledore brought Lupin here, and there's always the chance that Snape might not always be around to make that potion..." 

The three were silent for a moment, and the idea that the adults protecting them were just as vulnerable seemed a very strange thing to contemplate. 

The teachers started to leave then, signaling that breakfast was coming to an end. Most of the students had stayed longer than normal to enjoy the treat of the waffles, but now there was the scraping of benches as the students began to get up to leave. Startled, Harry craned his neck to see through the standing students to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was standing, still talking. Again, as if sensing Harry's stare, his grey gaze flickered across the hall to meet the other boy's eyes. 

They were all beginning to stand now, so Harry told Ron and Hermione that he'd meet them in the lesson and made his way through the rabble of departing students to stand where Malfoy would see him. As it turned out, Draco had been following his movement across the hall, and excused himself from his friends to make his way towards the Gryffindor. 

"You wanted to see Dumbledore, right?" Harry said sharply, jaw set as the memory of the night before made him feel hot with anger. 

Malfoy scowled. "I changed my mind. I'm not going." His eyes were cold and wary. "If you want to see him, fine, but I'm not." 

Harry raised his eyebrows at the blond boy. "Why? You came all the way to the common room last night for _nothing_, then?" Why was it that every time he thought he had something about the Slytherin figured out, he did something that totally threw him? 

"Dumbledore's a crackpot," Draco muttered harshly, his fists clenched at his sides. "Even more so than _you_ are. He's even less likely to take me seriously. Where you politely refrained yourself from laughing, I doubt he will. I'm _humiliated_ enough -" He paused, looking away as he tried to get a hold of his temper. Harry got the feeling that he hadn't meant to admit how he felt. "I'll deal with it by myself. No thanks to _you_." 

Harry rolled his eyes skyward. "Fine. Do whatever you want. I think you'd better go to Dumbledore, but you won't listen to me anyway." 

"No, I won't. So please drop it. As far as you're concerned, Potter, I never spoke to you about it." Harry almost smiled, because Malfoy's face went a little red, and then he stormed off when he realised that Harry _was_ almost smiling. As he turned his back, Harry let the expression show, shaking his head. He turned, intending to say hello to Sirius before he left the hall, and his eyes fell upon Professor Snape instead. The man wasn't watching him - had his back turned, in fact - but was hunched over, head bent, clutching his forearm with his opposite hand. Almost as if his skin was burning. 

***** 

Severus Snape hated Azkaban with every fibre in his being. He hated Azkaban more than he hated Sirius Black. And so it was without great pleasure that he found himself standing before the great gates of the prison at 9 o'clock in the morning on a cold November morning, not knowing why he was there. 

He had been summoned, of course. The mark on his arm still throbbed with a phantom pain, though it had stopped burning a while ago. He had slipped away from the school with a quick word to Dumbledore and Apparated onto the island, to where he stood now. It was the only place on the island that you could Apparate _to_, and he couldn't remember how many times he'd found himself standing in the same spot. 

The gates of Azkaban were set into the wall of the prison, at least twice as tall as Hagrid was, and about three times as wide. They were only bars, made of a twisted black metal which told of great age. Two Dementors stood like sentinels either side of the gates, so still except for the rise and fall of their chests that they seemed like statues. The prison itself was built into and around the rock on the island. The highest point towered above him at three times the height of the gates, and he knew that the rows and floors of cells extended many metres below ground as well. It was, he had been assured, a veritable maze underground. 

The Ministry of Magic's blind faith in the questionable Dementors had caused Azkaban to fall from control a year ago. Rumours of trouble had been circulating for months before hand, but Fudge's replacement as Minister of Magic had only been in office for a few months and Azkaban had been surprisingly low on the list of priorities. Voldemort's attack on Azkaban hadn't even really been an attack at all, more like a rather swift moving in. 

The spells wound in and around the island were so great and so powerful that it almost made Snape dizzy. Voldemort's power clung to everything, slithered over his skin and made him shudder. And to think - these were only protection spells! Now, only those with the Dark Mark and the Dementors could enter without Voldemort's permission, which meant that although the wizarding world knew exactly where the Dark Lord had claimed his throne, no-one could do a thing about it. 

Severus shook his head and started towards the gates. He had been puzzling over Azkaban's defences for as long as they had been instated, and come no closer to knowing how they worked. At least he could work the gates, he mused. As he approached, the Dementors' breathing rattled in his ears and the cold seeped into his bones. One of them started to move towards him in slow, shuffling steps, so he held out his arm, pulling back the sleeve of his robe to present the black mark on his pale skin. The Dementor paused for a moment, as if mulling it over, and then stepped back to allow him entrance. 

He pushed open one gate enough to slip in, and then closed it. The Dementors never moved. He gave them a last glance, and then turned to face the darkness that was the interior of Azkaban. Lamps guttered fitfully on the walls, but their flickering light was enough to see the stretching entrance corridor before him. It was even colder inside - as if the whole place was made of the same matter as the Azkaban guards - and he found himself pulling his robe and cloak closely around his body. His footsteps echoed dully as he walked, but he ignored the sound, concentrating on listening for anything else that might puncture the inky darkness around him.

Nothing. Azkaban was rarely this quiet. There were always Death Eaters here, somewhere or other, and the way that Azkaban was built meant that most noise echoed loudly throughout the entire complex. Part of the reason people had hated being here when Azkaban had been under Ministry control was because the desperate, maddened cries of its inmates could be heard from one end to the other, echoed and doubled-back until it was almost like the screams came from the very walls.

Voldemort's main chamber lay near the centre of Azkaban, perhaps a five minute walk from the gates. It was the biggest room in the place, and had once been the canteen. That had been many years ago, when wizards had staffed the place as well as Dementors and had allowed some of the less dangerous inmates to socialise at mealtimes. When the Dementors had stood guard, the canteen had been cleared and lay as an empty chamber for many years. It's high vaulted ceilings reminded Severus vaguely of a muggle cathedral he had once entered, but it held nowhere near the splendor he had seen, then. Muggle religious architecture was the one thing - besides a deep respect for the race being able to live without magic - that impressed him about the other world that coexisted with his own.

It stayed silent as he moved along the familiar path towards the chamber. He had rarely strayed from the path, because he knew he was quite capable of getting lost, and the Death Eaters might have been suspicious if they'd seen him wandering about for no reason. For that reason, he knew little of Azkaban's sprawling layout. And it had never been this quiet...

The quiet bothered him. So did the fact that he had yet to see another Death Eater. Was he late? No, he'd Apparated barely minutes after he'd felt the Dark Mark burn. The other alternative - one he did not relish - was that he was the only one to have been summoned.

_Why just me? I've done nothing lately. There's been nothing _to_ be done. Nothing new has come up for a long time._

The fear that Voldemort had discovered his spying was always near the surface. Some days, he couldn't understand that Voldemort _hadn't_, but he knew that he would go insane if he kept thinking about it. As time went on, it was increasingly more difficult to be inconspicuous. He had discussed with Dumbledore more than once the possibility of withdrawing as a spy, and they had both decided that it couldn't happen. Not yet.

The doors of the chamber were a new feature, no less impressive than anything else about the prison. Severus stopped in front of them, looking up at them, dread coiling heavily in his stomach. He raised his hand, remembering that if he showed how nervous he was feeling, Voldemort - or Nagini - would pick up on it.

He knocked on the door, calming himself as he did so, and the door opened instantly. It creaked on its hinges but moved more or less easily, revealing the lamp-lit chamber to him. It was a large, square room, perhaps two times as high as it was wide. It was plain, much like the grand hall of the Malfoy Manor when emptied for a larger, general meeting, with only the dais and the chair at one end. Malfoy Manor was another place he couldn't wait to see the back of - Death Eaters were only summoned to Azkaban in small numbers because of the Apparating space, so many meetings had been held elsewhere.

He couldn't see Nagini as he stepped into the room, but she was never far from her master, so she had to be in the room somewhere. He didn't dare look around for her, though, because his gaze was instantly caught and held by that of the man on the high chair.

"Severus, how nice of you to join me," hissed the high voice beneath the hood. "Come."

Severus walked the length of the chamber as confidently as he dared, head held high. Voldemort watched him as he approached, and Severus noticed another robed figure - not a Dementor, much thinner than those broad-shouldered monsters - standing just to one side of the dais. His arms were folded across his chest whereas Voldemort's lay on the arm rests.

"My Lord," Severus said, coming to a stop before the dais, "you summoned me?"

He abhorred being submissive.

"Yes," Voldemort murmured, voice rasping. "Yes, indeed I did."

Severus tried to hide his startled expression as soon as he knew it was beginning to show, and just about managed. The robed figure at the side - a Death Eater, no doubt - was watching him intently. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, seeing that the hood hung low. All he could make out was the tip of a long nose, thin pale lips and the line of the man's jaw. A strand of pale blond hair could just be seen, and Severus couldn't help his consternation as he realised that it was Lucius Malfoy.

"I'm sorry to have called you at such an unusual time," the robed figure on the chair murmured, "but I must admit that I am a little surprised that you have arrived."

"I had no classes to teach," Severus said truthfully. He knew what the dig had been, which disturbed him a little. At the Triwizard Tournament's third task, his excuse for not turning up when Voldemort called - oh, how his arm had throbbed and burned - had been because of the chaos caused in the wake of Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory's disappearance. He could not leave Dumbledore's side then, but he had been punished afterward anyway.

"Ah," Voldemort said, lifting his head as he spoke to reveal the white, parchment skin of his lower jaw beneath the hood. "But discrepancies in attendance were not what I called you here for. Severus, I'm afraid that your loyalty has been called into question."

Severus' gaze flickered to Lucius, who had shifted at the last statement. _Lucius should have no proof that I am dishonest with them. I have been careful. It can only be speculation. That is all._

"Do you understand what this means, Severus?" He turned back to Voldemort, knowing from the tone of voice that Voldemort had no trouble with the fact that Severus might be a traitor - in fact, he seemed to find it rather amusing. "If, indeed, you are not as loyal as I'd like to believe you are, I will destroy you."

Severus did not say a word, but he understood well enough what it meant. It would mean an eventual death, after an indeterminate length of time amusing the Dark Lord with his own pain. If he were rescued before he was killed, he would never see anything but the inside of St. Mungos for the rest of his life.

After a moment, Severus nodded. "I understand, but I am loyal. I have always been loyal." And for a short moment, he almost thought that Voldemort was about to sneer.

Finally, Voldemort said, "You understand, Severus, that I cannot take these accusations lightly."

"I understand."

"Good. See that you do." Voldemort shifted in his chair, his claw-like fingers curling over the arm rests. "In the meantime, however, I would like to discuss certain plans with you."

It was a long time before Severus left the Azkaban grounds.

*****

Lucius Malfoy stared resentfully at the door to Voldemort's chamber as it closed behind Hogwarts' Potions Master. As soon as the dark-haired man's back had turned as he began to leave, he found his lips pulling into a disgusted sneer.

The slam of the door echoed in the still air as Nagini slithered out of the shadows against the far wall, making her way to her master. When the snake reached her goal, Voldemort held out a bony hand and let it rest on the triangular wedge of her head.

He turned, bolder in his anger than he would have normally been. "My Lord, why did you not kill him? We _know_ he is a traitor!"

Voldemort's laugh was low and as dry as old parchment, scratchy in his throat. "Patience has never been one of your virtues, Lucius. Fortunately, it has always been one of mine."

"My Lord..?"

"I have always been a lover of fair play, Lucius," Voldemort murmured, half to himself. "In most cases, that is. Perhaps it is foolish of me - after all, when I was returned to this body, my own desire to prove myself lost me my chance of finishing Harry Potter once and for all. And perhaps I have learnt a lesson from that. I have never had an opportunity like the Triwizard Tournament since then, but it has given me two years to plan."

"But My Lord, you told him our plan to attack!"

Lucius fell silent as Voldemort threw back his head and laughed. Nagini had turned her great livid eyes to the Death Eater, regarding him as if he should have understood something by now.

"Perhaps it seems to you that I have been more than fair towards our errant spy," Voldemort laughed eventually. "But when the time comes, you will see what I have done. And this time, Lucius, I cannot possibly fail."

***** 

End Chapter 6. 

A/N:   
1. Cor, according to ff.net I haven't updated this in almost a year. Bloody hell. I swear that's wrong. So, accordingly, I grant permission to be slapped relentlessly for this oversight. 

2. I don't remember much of what was said about the layout of Azkaban (if anything _was_ said, except for the fact that it's somewhere off the coast of Britain south of Hogwarts) so I'm basically making it up. Sorry. My excuse will be that Voldemort's been redecorating. 

3. Two weeks, boys and girls. 


	7. Dreaded Notice

Hey there,

Unfortunately, I'm going to have to put this fic on temporary (if not indefinite) hiatus, because of factors at home which are restricting my time even further than before! To put it shortly, I've just entered a phase of school where the workload usually doubles, and on top of that I've started working part-time.

Not to say that I'm stopping writing completely – it's just that I'm going to have to just concentrate on one fic instead of two ongoing ones, and this is the one I'm going to stop. I update it irregularly enough anyway, and I can't find the time on top of everything else I do to sit down and look at this one when sometimes, I don't really enjoy it.

I'm very sorry about this; however, my livejournal – www.livejournal.com/users/knowing_shadows  - is being used as a writing journal and odd tidbits will go in there that will likely be HP-related, plus other fandoms, etc.

Again, I extend my apologies.

~Knowing Shadows


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